


Taming a Monster

by MissieMoose



Category: Dragons: Riders of Berk (Cartoon), DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Books), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Mythology, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bisexual Snotlout, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Riders, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Family Feels, Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, Historical References, Humor, Magic, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Original Character-centric, Polyamory, References to Norse Religion & Lore, i totally ignored most of rtte and substituted my own plot :p, mythological creatures, platonic fluff, severe canon divergence, snotlout is everyone's boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 59
Words: 437,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissieMoose/pseuds/MissieMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[COMPLETED] When the gods warn Gothi and Thora that a new evil is coming, they know that they'll need to somehow get the Berserkers and their crazed leader, Dagur the Deranged, on their side. The problem? Stoick is wholly against it. Knowing that Dagur has an odd fascination with her thanks to her troll blood, Thora goes behind Stoick's back and takes negotiations into her own hand. But when things don't go according to plan, she's left torn between her Berserker husband, her homeland of Berk, and Trader Johann's mysterious nephew...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Got another bundle o' weapons for ya, da'!"

"Get 'em goin' in the furnace; I'm almost done with this first batch. An' where's Hiccup? He should've been here by now!" Gobber wiped his forehead on his arm before hammering away on a bent sword. Glancing up, he watched Thora bury some swords in the red-hot coals of the foundry.

Hurrying past her father, she grabbed a large, double-bearded ax. "Oh, you know Hiccup," she chuckled, starting up the grinding wheel. "He's probably tryin' t' tackle a dragon on his own again."

"He better not or else it'll be more than just Stoick tannin' his hide!" Tossing the now-straightened sword into the coals, he pulled out one of the bent swords and began to hammer away on it. Behind him, the door burst open; glancing over his shoulder, he saw Hiccup quickly tying a leather apron around himself. "Ahh! Nice o' you t' join the party! I thought you'd been eaten up."

"Who, me?" Hiccup breathlessly laughed. "Nah; I'm far too muscular for their tastes!" He grabbed a mace attachment from the ground, grunting slightly. "They wouldn't know what to do with all of…this!" He struck a heroic pose after replacing the hammer on Gobber's wall of accessories.

Thora snorted. "They do need toothpicks, don't they?" she teased, going back to watching the ax blade as she ran it along the spinning stone.

Frowning, Hiccup went over to the shutters and threw them open. "Oh, very funny." He let out a small yelp as a group of Viking warriors rushed over, dropping their dull or ruined weapons into his arms before plucking up new weapons from the counter. He stuck his tongue out when a nearby Gronckle blast sent dirt flying into his face. He paused for a moment, seeing a group of five other teenagers run past, buckets of water in their hands. With a dreamy smile on his lips, he unconsciously started to climb out of the window.

"Oh no you don't!" Gobber grabbed Hiccup by the back of his tunic, easily hoisting him off the ground.

"Ah, come on!" begged Hiccup. "Let me out, please? I need to make my mark!"

He shook his head, plopping the teen next to his daughter. "Oh, you've made plenty of marks. An' all in the wrong places!"

"Please! Two minutes. I'll kill a dragon and my life will get infinitely better!" he pleaded, giving Gobber a most desperate look. "I might even get a date!"

Gobber shook his head in quite the fatherly manner. "Hiccup, you can't lift a hammer. You can't swing an ax; you can't even throw one o' these!" He blinked as the bolas were taken from his hand by a Viking outside. He watched as they flew through the air, neatly wrapping up a Gronckle's legs.

Thora shook her head, heading to the front of the shop to take over metal-heating duties as Hiccup darted over to a wooden contraption he had built. "Alright, fine –but this will throw it for me!" he told the smith, patting the machine. As soon as he laid his hand on its outer shell, it burst into life and Thora ducked just in time. A Viking running past, however, was not so lucky and found himself wrapped up in a pair of bolas. "Sorry!"

"See!" Gobber scolded, picking up his daughter up off the ground. "Now this right here is what I'm talking about!" He set her down near the hearth, a concerned look on his face. "You alright, Thora?"

Brushing off her apron, she nodded. "Aye, da'." She turned her back on the two males, hoping to stay out of the way of anymore wayward bolas.

"It's just a mild calibration issue-" Hiccup started.

"Hiccup," interrupted Gobber. Thora peeked over her shoulder, not having heard Gobber so frustrated with Hiccup before. "If ya ever want t' get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all…" He sighed and motioned to the entirety of Hiccup. "This."

A frown came to Hiccup's normally cheerful face. "But you just pointed to all of me…" he retorted.

"Yes, that's it! Stop being all of you!" Gobber told him, matter-of-factly.

Doing his best to hide his hurt, Hiccup puffed out his chest; Thora, however quite visibly cringed at the words. "Ooh-"

"Ooh yes," Gobber quickly retorted, his brow furrowed.

"You, sir, are playing a dangerous game!" Hiccup continued. "Keeping this much raw…Viking-ness contained! There will be consequences!" He let out a small gasp when Gobber plopped an unsharpened broadsword in his arms.

"I'll take my chances," he simply told him. "Sword. Sharpen.  _Now._ " He pointed his hammer at Thora, who had paused in her own sharpening of weapons. "Same goes for you, missy. Back t' work."

She let out a quiet sigh. "Aye, da," she murmured. Getting the wheel going again, she used her tail to push some hair from her face. She glanced over at Hiccup before lightly tapping his shoulder with her tail. When he looked over at her, she mouthed, "Sorry. Hangover."

Hiccup cringed and nodded in understanding. "It's alright," he mouthed back. "Dad's grumpy, too."

"Well, duh. Dragons are attackin'." She jokingly rolled her eyes before flinching; a high-pitched scream filled the night. "Night Fury!" she shouted, dropping the ax and covering her ears. Seconds later, one of the catapult towers was blown to pieces.

"Man the fort, Thora! They need me out there!" Gobber instructed as another Night Fury blast echoed through the village. He tossed off his hammer attachment in favor for the mace before running out the door. Two seconds later, he poked his head back in, pointing at the two teens. "Stay. Put. There." Then he ran out once more.

Standing upright, Thora rubbed her ears. "Augh, why does tha' dragon have t' be so  _loud_?" she grumbled. "Why do they  _all_ have t' be so loud?"

Hiccup chuckled, heading over to his contraption. "They're loud  _because_ they're dragons," he replied. Picking up the contraption, he started for the door, but was promptly stopped by Thora, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. "What? You, too?" he frowned.

She raised her brow and moved her hands on her hips. "I'm runnin' out o' excuses, Hiccup. Last time, it was a Gronckle slammin' into the hearth. The time before that? A Monstrous—"

Hiccup looked up at her, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Oh, don't you give me those eyes!" She did her best to not look at him as she tried to scold him. "Hiccup, every time ya go out there, ya get us  _both_ in trouble!" Unable to stop herself, she glanced at him only to find his lower lip now quivering. "…Oh, fine!" she groaned, stepping out of the way. "I'll just stay here an' try t' think o' something…" Rubbing her face in defeat, she unknowingly smeared soot all over her skin.

"This is why you're my favorite demi-cousin! Thank you!" Hiccup grinned as he ran past her, the device rolling in front of him.

"I'm your only demi-cousin!" she called after him. With a heavy sigh, she leaned her forehead against the doorway. "Oh gods, what do I tell da' this time…?" she mumbled, lightly hitting her head on the wood. After a minute of her self-punishment, she pulled herself away from the doorframe and moved to pick up the ax she had been sharpening. Just as she was about to clasp the handle, she felt something grab her tail. "Oh, what n-"

A shriek left her mouth as she was yanked outside and thrown a few feet into the air. She landed hard on the ground, the air getting knocked from her lungs. Wheezing, she forced herself to her knees and started coughing when she tried to breathe. She glanced over her shoulder to see what had grabbed her only to let out a pained cry of shock: A Deadly Nadder was standing overtop her, tilting its head this way and that as it watched her.

She tried to scramble away, but the dragon grabbed her ankle and threw her even higher into the air. This time, however, she was within reach of the forge's roof. Reaching out, she managed to grab hold of the shop's figurehead and pulled herself against it. Behind her, the Nadder squawked in annoyance as its toy tried to get away; it opened its wings and took to the air.

Cursing, Thora swung out of the way. Splinters of wood went flying as the dragon gripped the figurehead and ripped it from its place. She hopped to her feet and ran across the building, jumping onto the roof of the next shop. The Nadder let out another squawk and took chase.

"Not good, not good!" she yelped, running across the center beam. "Hlín help me!" She jumped, just barely able to make it onto the next roof. As she ran, she felt a sudden burst of heat as the dragon shot a fireball at her. She whipped her tail closer to her body, combing embers from the puff of hair at its tip with her fingers. The action caused her to lose some balance, but she stayed upright. Peeking over her shoulder, she readied herself for the dragon's next burst of fire.

Instead of flames, though, the Deadly Nadder shot its tail spikes at her. Two of the spikes grazed her cheek and leg while the rest embedded themselves into the roof before her. Unable to come to a stop in time, Thora threw herself backwards, hoping she wouldn't end up skewered. Whether it was luck or misfortune helping her, the dragon landed on the beam in front of her and she smacked into its leg before she could become impaled.

The Nadder, however, seemed to have lost her. It tilted its head, trying to catch sight of her, but she was too far under its belly to be seen. It knew she was still around, though, as it could smell her. Spreading its wings for balance, it began to hop about the roof, hoping to uncover her.

Thora darted this way and that, doing her best to follow the dragon's movements. Her heart was racing inside her chest; she was sure it would burst out soon. She was mentally praying to the gods when the Nadder feinted; it acted like it was going to hop towards the back of the building, but as she darted out from the safety of its shadow, it remained still.

The Deadly Nadder, far too annoyed with her antics, squawked and reared back. Opening its mouth, it spat a ball of fire at an alarmed Thora.

There was nothing to hit.

Knowing there was only one thing that could save her, Thora had thrown herself from the roof. Bumping and scraping against the cold, stone walls of the village's well as she plummeted downwards, she wondered if she would have been better off being hit by dragon fire. Although it felt like hours, only a minute had passed by the time she hit the frigid water. For the second time that morning, her breath was forced from her body.

She threw her arms out in front of her and latched onto the wall. Pulling herself upwards, she let out a gasp as her head broke the surface. She started to shiver as she began the climb back up to the top of the well. At the moment, being roasted alive would have been preferable to her.

"Da' is goin' to kill me," she mumbled under her breath.

Halfway up, she paused and cocked her head, listening to what was happening above ground. From what she could hear, the battle was nearing its end.

'Well, looks like I'm going to get the scolding this time,' she thought, seeking out her next handhold. 'What am I thinking? I'm  _always_  getting scolded.'

The sound of frightened 'baa'ing reached her ears, though it was fading into the distance.

'Did the dragons actually manage to steal some sheep this time?' she thought, brows furrowed. 'That better not be my fault. Or Hiccup's.' She cringed at the thought. 'It's probably our fault…'

She was just a few feet from the top when a bucket was thrown down into the well; thanks to the narrow space, it hit her atop the head. She yelped in pain and gripped the top of her head. Above her, the silhouette of a person appeared; it was hard to tell who it was from the shape, but their voice gave them away.

"…Dude, why are you in the well?" asked a rather confused Tuffnut.

Another head joined the first –his twin sister, Ruffnut. "Someone's in the well? Why would anyone be down there?"

Thora groaned. "Gods, not you two…" she mumbled.

"Ha! Why's the troll in the well? I thought they lived under bridges?"

Reaching the top of the well, Thora pulled herself up onto the wall and pushed some hair from her face. "Really? O' all the jokes out there 'bout trolls, you use the one about bridges?" Now exposed to the crisp, morning air, she began to shiver even more. "That one's so old, it's not even close t' funny."

The blonde girl scowled. "Hey!" She punched Thora's arm, nearly causing her to fall back into the well; thankfully, she was holding onto the crank beam with her tail. "I'm funny."

"Yeah, your  _face_ is funny," snickered Tuffnut. He flinched when Ruffnut punched him, too. "Ow, hey!" He punched her shoulder in return.

Her brow rising, Thora leaned back against the support beam and started to wring out her hair. She watched the twins fall to the ground in a heap, their limbs flying as they struggled to beat up the other. Through their commotion, she heard the sound of metal scraping against bone and turned, finding a serious-faced girl walking towards them.

"Morning, Astrid," she chattered.

"Are those two fighting  _again_?" Astrid questioned, setting an empty bucket down beside the well.

"Mhm," she replied. "The great thing is I'm the one who started it." She chuckled before grabbing another handful of hair to wring out.

"Oh?" Cocking her hip, she crossed her arms and watched the twins. "How'd you do that?"

"Said Ruffnut wasn't funny." She looked over at the other teen. "So what was the damage count this morning?"

Astrid inspected her nails before pulling out a small dagger, using it to clean them. "Well, we lost five sheep, three chickens, eight buildings –including part of the armory-, two catapults, and one lookout tower."

Thora frowned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "A lookout tower? How in Midgard did we lose one of those?!" She hopped onto the ground and began wringing out her clothes.

" _Somebody's_ demi-cousin tried to shoot down a Night Fury." She gave Thora a long look. "And we also saw you running from a Deadly Nadder."

Shrinking back, Thora did her best to smile innocently at Astrid, but the tusks protruding from her lower jaw did little to help. "That wasn't my fault."

"Whether it was your fault or not, it's the reason half the armory burnt down."

Thora sunk down, hiding her face in her hands. She, like everyone on Berk, knew just how vital the armory was to the village's survival. "Oh gods…Please tell me your lyin'.  _Please_  be lyin'…"

Astrid started to walk away. "I  _don't_  lie."

Hitting her forehead, Thora forced herself to her feet. "Well, I guess it could have been worse," she told herself. "Could o' burnt down the armory when it was full…"

"What was that, young lassie?"

She cringed before spinning around. There stood Stoick, looking far more grumpy than normal. "Er…Hi, Uncle Stoick!" she spoke, forcing an innocent smile to her lips. "How'd the dragon fight go?"

He gave her a look that could freeze mead as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I think you know very well how things went," he told her.

She shrank back slightly "It could have gone worse!" she countered, still wearing the look of innocence. "I didn't get eaten!"

He sighed and rubbed his temple. "Not  _this_ time. One o' these days, the battle's goin' to end and we're going to find out that you and Hiccup  _have_ been eaten by the beasts, you know that? Just because you managed t' escape  _this_ time doesn't mean it's always going to be that way! It was a fluke you were able to save yourself by jumping into the well." His face was stern as he watched her look away in shame. "I don't know how in Odin's name the two o' you manage to get into so much trouble, but it needs to stop."

"Yes, Uncle Stoick," she mumbled, her tail having sunk to rest between her feet.

"Now get t' the forge. I'll have your father deal with you after the meeting."

She peeked up at him. "Meetin'? What meeting?"

"You'll find out later. Forge. Now."

"Yes, Uncle Stoick…" Slouching in defeat, she timidly began to make her way back across the village.

"Oh, and Thora?"

She turned to look at the chief. "Aye?"

"I better not hear about you jumping into anymore wells."

She sighed. "Aye, Uncle…"

 

* * *

 

The mead hall was at full capacity. Stoick stood at the head of the table, his hands on either side of a large map. Off to his right stood Gobber, his drinking arm attached to his stump. Lightly shaking his head, the smith took a long drink of ale from the tankard as Stoick tried to gather his people's courage.

"Either we finish them or they'll finish us!" he decreed. "It's the only way we'll be rid of them." Pointing down at the map, he motioned to the top left corner, where it had been left uncharted. "If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave! They'll have to find another home!" He slammed a dagger down through the velum, earning a gleeful cheer from the people.

Standing upright, he observed the expressions of the other Vikings. "One more search," he told them. "Before the ice sets in."

The excitement of the crowd suddenly vanished. Fear and trepidation was all-too apparent on their faces.

"Those ships never come back," someone dared to argue.

Sending a half-glare at the speaker, Stoick raised his brow. "We're  _Vikings_. It's an occupational hazard. Now…" He straightened up and placed his hands on his hips. "Who's with me?"

Various murmured excuses echoed through the hall as most everyone shrank back from their angry chief. His brow rising, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright," he slowly began, "those who stay will look after Hiccup!" A smug grin appeared under his beard as everyone instantaneously raised their hands, volunteering to go on the mission. He loved his son dearly, but Stoick knew first-hand just how much of a hassle Hiccup was to watch over –let alone raise.

Gobber spun around on the bench as the other Vikings began filing out of the hall to go ready their belongings. "Great," he mumbled. "I'll pack my undies."

Stoick set his hand on his shoulder, all the while shaking his head. "No. I need you to stay and train some new recruits."

At that, Gobber cocked his brow. "Oh, perfect." He leaned back, looking at his friend. "And while I'm busy, Hiccup and Thora can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, lots o' time t' themselves…What could possibly go wrong?" He took another drink from his tankard, rolling his eyes behind its brim.

Stoick let out a heavy sigh and hopelessly shook his head. "What am I going to do with him, Gobber?" he quietly asked.

His brow still lifted, Gobber studied his friend for a long while before answering. "Put him in training with the others," he answered.

Frowning, Stoick shot him a glare. "No, Gobber. I'm serious."

"So am I." He stared Stoick down, waiting for the stubborn chief to admit defeat.

After some minutes, he finally closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "He'd be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage," he quietly told the blacksmith.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, you don't know that!" As Stoick lightly thwacked him on the back, his false tooth popped out of his mouth, disappearing into his mug.

"I do know that, actually." Getting to his feet, he began to pace in front of the tapestry as Gobber tried to find his missing tooth at the bottom of his mug.

"No, you  _don't._ " Swirling the mug around, he only succeeded in creating a bit of foam.

"No, actually, I  _do_."

" _No you don't!_ " Scrunching his nose up somewhat, Gobber tried to finish his ale in one gulp, but there was too much left in the bottom of the mug for one swallow.

Stoick shook his head. "Listen! You know what he's like. From the time he could crawl, he's been…different. He doesn't listen." Looking up at the tapestry, he let out a quiet sigh; depicted on the cloth was a mighty Viking slaying a dragon. "He has the attention span of a sparrow…I take him fishing and he goes hunting for—for trolls!"

Gobber raised his brow; for now he wouldn't remind the chief that his daughter was half-troll. "They exist," he instead told him. "The full-blooded ones like t' steal your socks. But only the left ones…what's with that?"

"When I was a boy-" began the chief.

Gobber closed his eyes, knowing what was coming. "Oh no…here we go…"

"-My father told me to bang my head against a rock and I did it." He continued pacing, his eyes fixed on the stone floor. "I thought it was crazy, but I didn't question him. And you know what happened?"

Finding the tooth, he put it back in his gum and gave it a few light taps to secure it back into place. "You got a headache?" was his sarcastic retort.

He ignored the response. "That rock split in two." He looked up, a reminiscent smile under his beard. "It taught me what a Viking could do, Gobber! He could crush mountains, level forests –tame the seas! Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become." A heavy sigh left his mouth and he turned to his friend. "Hiccup is  _not_ that boy," he quietly admitted.

"You can't stop him, Stoick. You can only prepare him." Standing up, Gobber went over to him and set his hand on his shoulder, a pitying look on his face. He knew the turmoil that Stoick had to be going through; after all, they practically raised their children together. "Look, I know it seems hopeless –I mean, Thora's practically the same way. But the truth o' the matter is you  _won't_ always be around t' protect him. He's goin' t' get out there again. Odin's beard, he's probably out there now!"

Rubbing his face, Stoick gave a small nod. "You're right," he murmured. "I'll put Hiccup in dragon training…You'll watch over him, won't you?"

"O' course I will! The lad's all but family by this point, after all." He beamed almost proudly. "Anyway, someone's got t' keep him from gettin' picked on by the others."

Nodding in understanding, Stoick returned his smile, albeit half-heartedly. "And what of Thora? Are you going to put her in dragon training? She could use it after her run-in with that Nadder this morning."

Gobber leaned back against the table, resting his elbows atop it. "Nope."

Stoick frowned. "And why not?"

"You know how she is," Gobber mumbled, looking up at the ceiling. "She's—well, she's…" He glanced at Stoick from the corner of his eye. "She's not really cut out t' kill dragons."

He raised his brow, unimpressed by his excuse. "Oh really? Because I seem to recall the two o' us teachin' her the intricacies of using a weapon from the time she could walk."

"It's not that she can't fight, Stoick! It's just that she…" He rubbed the back of his neck with his tankard. "I'm afraid t' let her."

Stoick stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open.

Gobber pouted. "Oh, don't give me tha'! You remember how Greta was in battle; she could put the Berserkers t' shame with her bloodlust!" As Stoick nodded slightly, he slouched forward, elbows now resting on his knees. "I want her t' be a warrior, aye, but not one like that. I'd want her t' be a proud, strong Hooligan like the rest o' us. Not…some monster."

Setting his hand on Gobber's shoulder, Stoick gave him a reassuring smile. "She can still be a warrior, Gobber," he told him, "but perhaps she can be one who  _saves_ lives rather than takes them?"

Half of Gobber's brow rose. "Eh?"

"She can be Gothi's apprentice," Stoick explained. "After all, we've only two healers in the entire village –having a third wouldn't hurt things. And the old gal is gettin' on in her years; who knows? If Gothi an' the gods see fit, maybe Thora could be the village Wise Woman by the time Hiccup's chief!"

At that, Gobber let out a hearty laugh. "Now isn't that a thought?" he chortled. "Thora as a Völva…" He scratched his chin at the thought, intrigued by the idea of his daughter potentially holding such a high position in the village. "Well, I think it best t' start small an' have her learn t' be a healer. After all, only the gods know what sorts o' injuries Gothi will need help fixin' in the comin' weeks…"

 

* * *

 

When Gobber arrived back to the forge that afternoon, it was to find Thora sweeping the floor. Soot and dried blood still clung to her face from that morning, though she had managed to bind the wound on her leg. She glanced up at him, a somewhat guilty look on her face.

"Hi, da'."

"What's got ya lookin' so guilty?" he questioned, pulling the mug from his stump. He hung it on the wall and grabbed his small hook.

Her cheeks turned a bit pink. "You…didn't hear?"

"Oh, I heard 'bout this mornin' alright." After putting his hook into his stump, he reached out and tousled Thora's hair with his hand. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

She blinked, taken aback by his calmness. "Ya mean…I'm not in trouble?"

"Now why would ya be in trouble? For getting' chased by a dragon?" He snorted and plucked the broom from her hands. "Don't be silly." Setting the broom against the door, he left the forge, adopting a leisurely pace to give her time to catch up to him. "The ol' loggin' trail sound good t' you?"

She shrugged, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Truth be told, anythin' sounds good now tha' I know I'm not in trouble."

Gobber chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. "Well, I'm glad t' hear that."

And then he fell silent.

The two of them continued to walk, taking a route that led them behind the village and into the forest. At one point, it had been a well-used road –ruts were still worn into the earth from the logging carts- but now it was all but abandoned. Tall grass and thorny bushes hid most of the lane from sight, but those who still used the path for collecting berries or roots knew how to pick their way around the obstacles. Besides Gothi, the duo knew the road the best out of everyone on Berk; they often took walks there after rough days in the forge or when they wanted some quiet time.

Half an hour of walking brought them to the edge of the forest. The trees here stood tall and foreboding, their mossy limbs allowing only a few lucky rays of sunlight to reach the forest floor. Thora inhaled deeply, her eyes closing and a wide grin coming to her face as she took in the rich, deep scent. Gobber raised his brow and looked down at her, his lips curling into a smile. He knew how much she loved the woods; after all, it was in her blood.

"Smells better than a sweaty ol' smithy, doesn't it?" he lightly teased.

Thora's cheeks darkened. "Aye," she mumbled, embarrassed. "Do ya mind if I climb?"

Shaking his head, he dismissively waved his hook at her. "Just stay within ear shot – _my_ ear shot, mind you."

"I will." The grin still on her face, she rushed over to the nearest tree and scrambled up the trunk.

Gobber watched her; even after fourteen years, he was still amazed by how fast and well she could climb things. It was both a blessing and a curse –he remembered 'losing' her many times in her childhood thanks to scrambling into the rafters. Shaking his head, he continued to walk, focusing his gaze on the ground ahead. He could hear Thora giggle from somewhere above him and he figured she must have startled some squirrel or chipmunk.

"So, Thora," he called out some minutes later, "I suppose ya've heard about your uncle's crazy quest?"

"Aye," her voice echoed down to him. "Why is he so obsessed with findin' the dragon's nest? Every time he goes out lookin' for it, he comes back with half o' the ships he left with!"

He unconsciously nodded in agreement. "Yeh know your uncle; he's stubborn an' boar-headed. Won't rest until the nest has been destroyed…" He shook his head and let out a sigh. "But, he's left me with me own job t' do while he's gone."

"Oh? What's that?"

Pausing as a clump of moss drifted down before him, Gobber peered skyward, but saw no trace of his daughter. Shrugging it off, he continued to walk. "I'll be trainin' the teenagers how t' fight dragons." He suddenly jumped back as Thora appeared, hanging upside down on a branch.

"Really?" she questioned, a brow cocked. She had small twigs and bits of moss clinging to her ashy hair, but didn't seem to notice.

He reached out and poked the tip of her nose with his hook, watching in amusement as she wriggled it in annoyance. "Aye," he told her as she swung herself onto the top of the branch once more. "It'll keep me away from the forge most o' the day." He started walking again as Thora climbed upwards.

She held out her arms as she walked along a fir branch. "You'll even be trainin' Hiccup an' me?" she questioned, hopping lightly over a bird's nest. "You'll have your hands full with all o' us then! Uncle Stoick should have left Spitelout t' help ya!"

"Ah…Well…About tha'…"

She jumped across the way, landing on a pine bough before peering over the edge to stare down at her father. She knew that tone all too well; the news had been too good to be true. "We won't be fightin'."

"Well, Hiccup will!" Gobber countered, causing her curiosity to come back. "But your uncle thought it'd be better t' have ya learn a skill far more important than fightin' dragons!"

"But fightin' dragons is all everyone ever does," she retorted. Walking towards the trunk of the pine, she stood on her tiptoes and grabbed a higher branch. "What's more important than that?" With a grunt, she started to pull herself up.

"Bein' Gothi's apprentice."

Thora almost let go of the branch in shock. "Wh-what?" she called, eyes wide. She let go of the branch, starting to make her way down towards the ground. "I'm not sure I heard ya right."

"Ya heard me well enough," he replied, crossing his arms. "Stoick thinks you'll make a good apprentice t' Gothi –an' she an' I agree." When she came into view, his eyes tracked her movements until she was safely on the ground. "I talked t' her before I went t' the shop. She said she'll be happy t' take ya on."

Rather than ecstatic as he thought she would be, Thora looked apprehensive. "But…but da', I can't be a healer." Her tail hung low to the ground, moving in slow circles.

"An' why not?" He nudged her shoulder with his hook. "I think you'd make a wonderful healer!"

Her cheeks darkened and she glanced away. "Because healers are supposed t' be human," she muttered.

Gobber frowned. "Now who in Midgard told ya that?" he scowled. "Tell me an' I'll give them a new a-"

"It's just what I've been told," she interrupted, unknowingly beginning to toy with the hem of her apron dress. "Everyone's always told me tha' healers an' seers an' anyone who uses magic has t' be human, elsewise things go wrong an' bad things happen."

Still wearing a frown, Gobber shook his head. "Well, ya can just plain ol' ignore those naysayers," he firmly told her, "because if Gothi says you're cutout for the task, then  _you're cutout for the task._ " Leaning over, he set his hand and hook on her shoulders before kissing the top her head. "An' even if you do summon some evil sort o' creature or somethin', it'll be a nice change o' pace t' fightin' dragons."

"Da'," she mumbled, slightly smiling. "That's not funny."

"Then why are ya smilin'?" he grinned.

She lightly pushed him away, trying not to smile wider. "I'm not!"

"Oh? What's that your lips are doin', then? A reverse scowl?" He poked her nose again as she giggled. "An upside-down frown?"

"Da'!" She hid a fit of giggles behind her hands and swatted at Gobber with her tail. He ducked, though, and caught her in a bear-hug.

"You'll do fine," he told her, giving her an extra squeeze. "I know ya will. Know how?"

"How?" She grimaced when she smelled the scent of stale body odor mixed with ale, soot, and metal. "Ugh…" she muttered under her breath. 'I hope it rains soon, otherwise he'll be able to slay dragons with his stench…' she thought.

Gobber didn't notice and instead ruffled her hair before setting her on her own two feet. "Because I'm your da' an' I'm  _always_ right."

Her brow rose; she knew better than to argue that point, even if there had been plenty of times throughout her life that he had, in fact, been wrong. "Alright," she conceded. "So when do I start?"

"Tomorrow," he chirped, "bright an' early. Also, Hiccup will be stayin' with us until Stoick gets back."

She nodded in understanding. "I'll find the spare hammock. What should I make for dinner?"

He shook his head. "You get a break tonight. I'll be makin' yak noodle soup!"

Her eyes widened and her tail rose up higher, waving excitedly. "Yak noodle soup?" she repeated. "Ya don't make that often! What's the occasion?"

A sly grin came to his features. "Well, for one, it's one o' the few  _yummy_ things I can cook," he told her. "And secondly, whatever's left over will be goin' with ya t' Gothi's tomorrow. She loves the stuff!"

Thora gave him a curious look. "…You're bribing her, aren't ya?"

"No!" He frowned at such a wild accusation. "Like I said: I've already talked t' her about all this. I'm just sendin' some o' the soup with ya as a way t' thank her for takin' ya on."

She gave him a curious look, as if she didn't entirely believe him, though she said nothing.

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen by the time Hiccup arrived. He knocked twice before pushing open the heavy wooden door only to find Gobber sitting before the hearth, stirring a large cauldron of soup with his ladle-hand. Across from him, Thora was dangling, upside down, from a rafter as she strung up the second half of a hammock. When she saw him come in, she grinned and waved.

"Evenin', Hiccup," she spoke, startling Gobber, who nearly fell off his stool.

"Hiccup! I didn't see ya come in; gave me a right fright you did!" admitted the blacksmith.

"Sorry, but in my defense, I did knock," Hiccup chuckled. Rubbing his arm somewhat nervously, he stepped closer to the fire –both to warm up and to subtly peer inside the cooking pot. "So, ah…how 'bout that quest to find the dragon's nest?" He was more than a little surprised to find the contents of the vessel edible looking.

"Insane," Gobber and Thora chorused.

"But, what do ya expect? Stoick's too stubborn t' back down from the challenge," finished Gobber. Shaking his head, he dipped the ladle into the soup and sipped it. Apparently, something wasn't quite right, because he reached into a clay jar and sprinkled some of its contents into the soup. "Come on over, Hiccup, an' make yourself at home. You're standin' over there all awkward-like. Ya know you're welcomed here." He motioned at an empty stool across the fire with his hook.

Doing what he was told, Hiccup sat down, resting his hands on his knees. "What time does the training start?" he questioned after some minutes of silence passed by.

"First thing in the mornin'," Gobber replied. He glanced over at Thora as she landed with a 'thud' on the floor. "You alright, love?"

Standing upright, Thora nodded and pushed some hair from her face. "Fine. Just odd jumpin' down with a hammock in the way." She went and sat on the floor next to Hiccup, leaning back on her hands.

"Will you be training with us?" Hiccup asked her.

She shook her head. "Nah. Apparently, your da' thought I'd be better off learnin' t' heal. So, if ya get hurt, I'll be able t' fix ya up!" She chuckled, though it faded quickly when she saw the frown he wore. "What's wrong?"

It was Hiccup's turn to shake his head. "Nothing, nothing…it's just that my dad isn't normally the type to suggest healing as an occupation. You know him, it's always, 'We could use a few more good Vikings t' help the village out when those dragons attack!'" As he imitated his father, he had stuck his chest out and wore a comically accurate grumpy expression.

Gobber was mildly amused by the impersonation. "As true as that is, it  _was_ Stoick's idea t' have her be Gothi's apprentice. She'll be learnin' more than just healin'! Thora here could quite possibly be Berk's wise woman by the time you're chief!"

Hiccup glanced over at Thora, who wore a nervous smile. He wondered why she looked nervous, and made a note to question it later, after Gobber had gone to bed. "A wise woman, eh? Will you stay mute and communicate only in cryptic drawings?" he joked.

"Oh, no," she giggled; he thought it sounded a bit forced. "I'll be mute, but I'll communicate through tappin' a spoon on a pot."

"Ooh, now that's original," he laughed. "That'll be even harder for us to translate!"

Gobber gave the two of them an intense, fatherly look as he leaned his elbow on his knee. "Ya know, Gothi doesn't speak because she was born without a voice," he told them, his tone gentle. "An' not everyone could read back when she was a lassie, so she used the pictures t' say what she thought." He stood up and crossed the room, ducking into the pantry to grab some bowls.

Both teens cringed in embarrassment. "Did not know that," Hiccup murmured, his gaze fixing on the floor.

"But now that we all can read, she still finds it easier t' use pictures rather than letters," Gobber continued. "For those who don't know how t' read the pictures, though, she uses letters. Takes her longer t' write out words that way, but still gets her point across." Using his prosthetic ladle, he filled up one of the bowls with soup and handed it over to Hiccup. "Thora, could ya get the spoons?"

She wordlessly got to her feet and disappeared behind the battered cloth separating the pantry from the main room. When she came back, she bore not only spoons, but a set of tankards, as well as a pitcher of water held by her tail. She plunked a spoon into Hiccup's bowl before setting a mug down on the ground next to him and filling it with water. He thanked her for both items before beginning to eat, watching as she circled the fire and filled a tankard for her father, exchanging it for her own bowl of soup.

Not much was said during the meal, as everyone was busy shoveling soup down their throats. Hiccup was astounded at how good the food was; Gobber was  _not_ known for his cooking. When he reached the bottom of his bowl –which was by no means small- Gobber wasted no time in refilling it. When he gave the blacksmith a questioning look, Gobber shrugged.

"You were the one who wanted t' be big an' beefy," he casually told him, earning a look of confusion from Thora. She didn't press the matter, however, and instead continued to eat.

By the time everyone was finished, the fire was burning low in the hearth. Gobber stood up, passing his empty bowl to Thora before detaching his ladle, which he also handed to her. "Don't stay up too late," he told the both of them. Yawning, he stretched his back and scratched the top of his head. "Tomorrow's a big day for ya both. Don't want ya t' be exhausted through it. Goodnight, Thora, Hiccup." He leaned over and kissed the top of Thora's head; he gave Hiccup a small wave.

"Night, da'," replied Thora.

"Night, Gobber," said Hiccup. He followed Thora into the pantry, where a single candle was burning on the counter. He waited until the thudding of Gobber's peg leg fell silent on the ceiling above them before quietly speaking. "You looked nervous earlier when we were talking about your apprenticeship."

"Ya noticed, huh?" she sighed. Lifting a large bucket, she poured water into a wooden basin.

"A bit, yeah." He picked up one of the bowls and dunked it into the basin, beginning to scrub it clean with soap. "What's got you worried?"

"What  _hasn't_ got me worried? Hiccup, I'm goin' t' be learnin' how t' heal an' how t' use magic. I'm goin' t' become a witch!" She took the now-clean bowl from him and dried it off with a towel. "It's dauntin'! No, more than that –it's  _frightening_." Shaking her head, she felt her tail droop and hit the floor. "There are so many things that can go wrong! Seiðr can be  _way_ more dangerous than a dragon."

Hiccup frowned; he hadn't ever known Thora to get so worked up over something like she was now. He reached over, having wiped it dry on his tunic, and set his hand on her shoulder. "Hey. You'll do fine," he reassured her. "Gothi wouldn't have taken you on if she didn't see  _something_ in you, right?"

"That's the thing, though –women are supposed t' know at least a lil' magic by now," she explained, "but I know nothin'! Even Ruffnut an' Astrid know the basics an' they're not even interested in magic." She handed him another bowl to clean.

He hated to admit it, but she had a point. Almost all of Berk's women knew how to do some sort of magic, whether it was imbibing a soup with healing properties or predicting the weather. "Well…it's not really your fault, you know," he told her. "Gobber's your only parent and men aren't allowed to practice magic. I'm sure Gothi will understand."

She sighed. "I hope…but, I also hope that I'm  _only_ learnin' t' heal. I don't think I'd be able t' be a full-blown Völva."

"Why not?"

Shrugging, she took the second bowl from him when it was clean and began drying it off as well. "Well, for one an' unlikely as it is, I someday want a family. Völva can't marry." She set the bowl aside just in time to grab the third one. "Not t' mention, I doubt a half-troll like me could ever reach such a status."

"Well, then, you don't have to be one. I, for one, think it'd be good to have my  _nice_ cousin as my wise woman. Gods know I wouldn't want Snotlout giving me advice…"

Thora snorted. "Ya never know; he may be a brilliant tactician under that too-tight helmet o' his!" she joked.

At that, Hiccup let out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, right. And I'm hiding a vicious dragon killer under my clumsiness." He then exhaled just a bit too heavily, unintentionally letting Thora know something was up.

Her brows furrowed together. "Alright, now what's wrong with you?" she demanded. "Every time dragons have been brought up tonight, you've gotten quiet an' pessimisstic."

His cheeks darkened in embarrassment. "Ah…er…well, it's just something your dad said to me earlier," he half-lied.

She cringed. "Uh-oh. What was it?"

"Oh…y'know…just how I should stop trying to be something I'm not." He slouched forward. "Also known as, 'Stop trying so hard to be a Viking when you're just a shrimp.'"

Frowning, Thora dried her hands off. "You're not a shrimp!" she countered. "Look at some o' the other kids our age –the twins an' Astrid are just as lanky as you!" She gave him a light nudge with her tail, suddenly grinning. "Not t' mention, you're one o' the smartest people in Berk! Do ya know how useful that is?" Grabbing his arm with her tail, she led him back into the main room, candle in hand. She plopped him on a stool and went to build up the fire.

"But it's more than that, Thora. It made me realize something." He tiredly rubbed his face, mentally debating with himself whether he should just tell her the truth. After a few tense minutes of silence, he decided that a partial truth would be good enough. "I don't think I'm cut out to fight dragons."

She looked up from where she was crouching. "All because o' what my da' said?"

"Yes. Well, kind of. No." He shook his head, trying to clear it of the thoughts racing inside of it. "It's complicated."

"I would think. Just this mornin' you were tryin' t' prove yourself an' now ya want t' avoid the trainin' you've been wantin' since we were five." She grabbed her hair and held it back as she blew on the coals.

Hiccup watched the coals glow red, their heat igniting the dry moss and bark on the logs Thora had added. "Do you think I should go through it, even if I don't really want to? I mean, it'd at least make my dad happy and you know how hard a feat  _that_ is."

"Truth be told," she started, grabbing a piece of firewood, "I do think ya should go through with it, but not t' make your da' happy." She carefully laid the piece of wood over the small flames that had sprung up. "It's a good skill t' have, knowin' how t' fight dragons. You never know when you'll be left all on your own again."

"Says the girl who nearly got eaten by a Nadder this morning," he muttered under his breath, forgetting about her hearing.

She leaned back on her haunches, staring at him. "I knew one o' its weaknesses an' exploited it.  _That's_ how I stayed alive. You, on the other hand, need t' learn those things. Even if ya still think you don't want t' be a warrior after the trainin', it's somethin' ya need t' know."

His brow rose. "You already know their weaknesses?"

"O' course. Da' used t' read me the Book o' Dragons all the time when I was younger. Apparently, it helped me fall asleep if I had colic." She shrugged and stood up, stretching through a yawn. "No doubt, he'll have ya read it, too."

Thanks to Thora's yawn, Hiccup ended up yawning as well. "Well, it's sure to be an interesting read," he sighed. "And…I guess, you're right. I  _do_ need to know how to defend myself if ever I'm attacked." Standing up, he went over to the hammock Thora had put together for him. "That is, if I survive training."

Tugging her apron dress over her head, Thora hung it on a peg in the wall and straightened out her tunic. "Oh, don't worry about that –da' won't let ya die! He likes ya too much," she teased, trying to liven the mood. Climbing into her own hammock, she yawned again. She tugged the blanket up to her chin before curling into a ball, the hammock rocking gently from her movements. "Oh, Hiccup?"

He lifted his head, peering across the room at her. "Yeah?"

"…Thanks. For earlier. I needed t' hear that."

A small smile appeared on his face. "Yeah. Thank you, as well. I also needed to hear that." He watched as she set her head back down.

"Hiccup?"

"Mhm?"

"You're my favorite demi-cousin."

He quietly laughed. "I'm you're  _only_ demi-cousin."

"Doesn't stop ya from bein' my favorite. Goodnight, Hiccup."

Rolling his eyes, but still wearing a smile, he closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Thora."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's chapter one! Hope you guys enjoyed it and, if you did, please leave a comment! More chapters on the way~


	2. Chapter 2

Gothi's house sat at the top of Freya's Stack, the highest point in the village. Even for the fittest of Vikings, it was a tiring trek. Many speculated whether Gothi used witchcraft to make the climb, but as she walked along the spiraling boardwalk, Thora began  _wishing_ she had magic to fly up there. It was made somewhat more unbearable thanks to the pot of leftover soup she carried with her tail.

'The lessons could have been at noon,' she thought, covering her eyes as she came round to the eastern side of the stack. 'At least then I could have gotten a bit more sleep…'

She paused in her steps; the house was just one more turn above her and the village sprawled beneath her. Peering through the light of the rising sun, she looked down at the houses and empty streets. She wondered how the warriors were faring so far and worried about how the soon-to-be warriors would fare with her father's lessons.

Shaking her head, she continued her upwards journey. When she at last reached the platform, she found Gothi waiting for her, a small smile on her aged face as she leaned against her staff. Nervously, Thora tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and did her best to return the smile, though she was sure it came out looking more like an expression of terror.

The elderly woman scratched some words into the dirt. 'Good morning. I'd ask if you slept well, but I can already tell you didn't.'

Thora cringed a bit. "Er…well...y'know. Nerves."

Erasing the words with her foot, Gothi proceeded to write more in their place. 'I can't say that I blame you. I was nervous when I began my apprenticeship as well. But! Come. There is much I need to teach you. Today, we start with the basics which are, arguably, the most important things to know.'

Unconsciously, Thora took a small step backwards. "Er, Gothi? Before we start, can I ask ya somethin'?"

The old woman nodded.

"Da' wasn't quite clear when he told me I was goin' t' be your apprentice. Am I just learnin' how t' be a healer, or am I learnin' more than that, like enough t' be a witch? Or are ya goin' t' train me so I can become a Völva as well?"

Gothi gave her a curious look, her smile still on her lips. Once more she shuffled her foot across the dirt.

'You tell me.'

She turned her back to the half-troll, beckoning her to follow as she stepped into her house. Thora swallowed hard, but walked after her, her tail nervously swishing behind her. Walking into the hut, she was met by the familiar smell of cloves and anise; oddly, she found the smell helped to soothe her nerves a bit.

"Got t' admit, it's odd t' be up here an' not be wounded in some way," she admitted with a small chuckle. The last time she had visited Gothi was when she had gotten into a fight with Snotlout and he had knocked one of her tusks out. "Kind o' nice, not bein' in pain this time." She reached out and carefully felt an upside-down bundle of lavender.

As she looked around at the shelves of jars and dried plants, she failed to notice the wooden tub filled with steaming water.

"Oh, by the way, da' sent me with some yak noodle soup," she told Gothi, bringing her tail around to her front. "He said it's one o' your favorites."

Gothi seemed to perk as she excitedly took the pot from her hands and carried it to the hearth. She was careful about avoiding the flames as she hung the soup from a hook that hung from the ceiling. Then, turning back towards Thora, she motioned at the tub –an action that brought a look of confusion to the teen's face.

"Um…Were ya about t' take a bath?" she questioned. "I can come back later if—ouch!" She rubbed her head where Gothi had thwacked her with her staff.

Lightly shaking her head, Gothi wrote in a pile of cooled ash. 'The bath isn't for me. The most important thing you need to know about being a healer is that we must be clean. That means bathing at least every other day. None of this monthly bath business like your father.'

"So…that bath is for me." She cautiously eyed the tub; it looked like it could fit Gothi just fine, but Thora? "Are ya sure I'll fit in that thing? I'm just ah…a wee bit taller 'n you."

Raising her brow, Gothi used her staff to point at her, then at the tub.

Not wanting to be thwacked again, Thora hurried over to the tub and started undressing. Gothi, meanwhile, pulled an assortment of jars down from the shelves and lined them up on the table. She then grabbed an ancient, leather-bound book from within a chest and set it atop the table. She hobbled over to a large, cedar chest and pulled from it a pile of garments that smelled of rosemary and lavender. These, too, she set on the table, hoping that they would fit the teen.

When she heard a small splash, she turned around to find Thora sitting in the tub, her nose scrunched up as she tried to fit both her legs in with the rest of her body. A hoarse laugh left Gothi's throat; she had to admit, it was a comical sight.

Thora glanced up when she managed to, with a bit of shifting and tucking her tail underwater, fit her legs into the water with the rest of herself. "…Tada! I fit!" she half-laughed. She winced as her foot accidentally stepped on her tail.

Handing her a soft cloth and a vial of purple-tinted liquid, Gothi motioned for her to start washing herself. While Thora began scrubbing, the Völva grabbed a pitcher of lukewarm water and doused her hair with it.

Thora immediately hunched her shoulders back, her eyes wide. "Ack! Gothi, that's cold!"

Gothi, however, made no effort to reply. Instead, she grabbed a small, clay pot and dumped its contents onto the teen's hair. Almost immediately, the clove and anise smells were overtaken by the pungent scents of lavender and mint. Working the soap mixture into Thora's thick hair took a bit of work, but soon enough, Gothi had it all lathered up. With the soap still in Thora's hair, the elderly woman grabbed a metal comb and started to comb out the locks.

"That's a really strong soap ya got there," Thora commented, her scalp feeling cool and tingly thanks to the mint. She sneezed, wincing in pain as the comb was jerked through a knot. "Can't say I'm much o' a fan o' the lavender, but the mint is nice."

Unable to write anything, Gothi merely nodded in understanding. She continued to untangle Thora's hair, occasionally dipping the comb into the water to clear it of any suds or broken strands of hair. She was also a bit surprised to find no trace of fleas or lice; both were problems she often treated amongst the villagers. Just as she was about to reach for her staff to write a question out, Thora spoke.

"Normally, I just use parsley an' spurge oil t' clean my hair," she said, unknowingly answering Gothi's question, "but I like the smell o' this stuff. Does it keep the critters at bay as good as parsley an' spurge?" With a curious expression on her face, she looked over her shoulder at Gothi, who somewhat waved her hand in a 'kind of' way. "Hm. Well…maybe I should start addin' mint t' it." She shrugged and started to wash her face. "Make it smell better at least."

A smile came to Gothi's face, though she still wrote nothing.

By the time Thora had finished scrubbing herself, Gothi had finished her washing and braiding her hair. The deftness of Gothi's gnarled fingers as they twisted the locks took Thora by surprise; it normally took her a good five minutes to just do one braid and yet, Gothi had done three in that time. She was handed a towel as she stood up and she wrapped it around herself before proceeding to squeeze the excess water out of her tail and hair.

'You look and smell much better now,' Gothi had written in the ashes. 'And I'm surprised you know to use spurge and parsley for critters.'

"Uncle Stoick taught me when I was younger," she explained. "He said I have too much hair t' be fightin' critters."

'Well, you do have quite a bit of it. But I digress. Do you know why we, as healers, must be cleaner than everyone else?'

Biting her tongue, Thora thought for a moment. "Because…dirt isn't good for wounds?" she guessed. She wrapped her tail around her chest in order to keep the towel secure.

Gothi nodded. 'You're half right. Being dirty increases the risk of infection and that defeats the purpose of being a healer. And being a healer is just as important to a village as its chief. Sometimes, we can be even more important.

'Being a witch, however, does make you more important. It means that you can not only heal, but you can do magic: Simple things like predicting the weather, foretelling a baby's sex, and casting luck charms.

'But even more significant and sacred than a village witch is a Völva. They are more than just healers and witches –in exchange for sacrificing a life as a wife and mother, we who call ourselves Völva are granted divine powers. We are able to peer into the future, summon a god's favor, and even, if the Völva were powerful enough, change the very threads of fate. Not every village is blessed to have one, because we who choose this life are few and far between. Freya does not dole out her gifts frivolously.'

Glancing up at Thora, she found that the teen had paled slightly and wore a solemn expression. She was pleased to see no trace of excitement or eagerness written in her features.

'As I instruct you in the ways of healing and witchery,' she continued, 'you will learn how to save a person from death and how to change the tide of battle. But it is up to you to eventually decide if you wish to become a Völva as well. Do you understand?'

Thora slowly nodded. "I do."

'Good. Now, onto your second lesson for the day.' Taking Thora by the elbow, she led her over to the table where she had lain out the jars and book. 'No matter how clean a person is, an infection can still find its way into an injury. As such, we use various herbs and liquids to help stop that from happening.' Opening the first jar, she held it up so Thora could smell its contents only to watch as she leaned away from it, her eyes clenched shut. 'One of the strongest and most painful methods is to use garlic. Oil of garlic and juice of garlic can be applied direction to skin wounds or it can be taken internally. It should never be used on or near the eyes, though.'

Thora set the jar down, replacing its lid. "Also good for marinatin' yak," she added with a tiny chuckle. Grabbing the next container, she opened it to find a viscous golden liquid. "Ooh! I know what this is! Honey!"

'Do you know why it's good?'

"It's a natural wound cleaner," she answered. "Da' used t' use it all the time whenever I came home covered in scrapes. It's properties can be different dependin' on what flowers the bees visited, makin' it sometimes poisonous t' use."

Gothi nodded, a pleased look on her face. 'I'm pleasantly surprised by your knowledge. Not many people know that honey can be poisoned. To further your knowledge, however, honey is also good as a cleaner when mixed with salt or beet sugar. Taken internally, it is good for soothing sore throats or, when paired with mint, calming upset stomachs. Painfully hard to get, though.' She then motioned to the third jar.

Taking it, Thora opened it up only to be hit by the scent of mint. "This one's mint, for sure."

'As already stated, it is good for stomach ailments, but it also good for many other things. Its oil can be rubbed on the chest when someone has trouble breathing; when mixed with vinegar, it can cleanse the breath. Mint tea is good for bringing down fevers and compresses made with it can help with dragon bites. Also good for preventing fleas and lice.'

'And it's good with lamb,' thought Thora, putting the jar back on the table. Grabbing the fourth and final crock, she opened its lid and peered inside. It was filled with a clear liquid that smelled sour, making her stick her tongue in disgust as she quickly closed it once more. "Vinegar."

'Vinegar is good for many things,' Gothi wrote. 'It can be used as a cleaner for wounds and household objects; as an ingredient in medicine, potions, and cooking; and as a wash for wounds or skins. Herbs and fruits can be soaked in it to make different mixtures for different purposes. Take mint, for example. Mint vinegar is good for cleansing the mouth of bad smells.'

"Huh." Thora curiously peaked into the jar again, being careful to breathe through her mouth rather than her nose. "Would have never guessed it was good for any o' that, besides cookin'."

'And that, dear child, is why you are here: To learn.' Taking the book in her hands, she smiled as she fondly ran her hand over the oilcloth binding its pages. It had taken nearly her entire life to gather all the information held within and a pang of sorrow struck her heart. Parting with it would be bittersweet, but she knew it would be passed into capable hands.

She held it out to Thora, who took it gingerly.

'This is an herbology,' she explained in the ashes. 'I've spent my life scouring this archipelago and studying its plants and their uses. Everything about every plant here you can find in those pages. I want you study it carefully –you don't need to memorize all of it, but with time, you will come to know your most commonly used plants by heart.'

Her eyes widened as she read Gothi's words. "Y-you wrote this?" The elder nodded. "Are ya sure ya want t' be handin' it off t' me, then? I mean, I'm only an apprentice; I don't deserve this!"

A hoarse laugh came from the Völva, making her writing somewhat wobbly. 'It is because you are my apprentice that you are receiving this book! I no longer have a use for it; I know its contents well.' At last, she pointed at the neatly folded clothes. 'Now, here are some clean clothes for you. I'm sure they'll fit you, as they belonged to my sister years ago. When you're finished getting dressed, come out back. I have some things to show you.'

Thora set the book down as Gothi hobbled to the back of the house, disappearing out a second door. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she unfolded the clothes, inspecting them with a good amount of curiosity.

'I never knew Gothi had a sister,' she thought, looking over the tunic. It was light, ashy grey color much like her hair. The trousers, on the other hand, were deep, dusty red. 'That'll be handy come certain parts of the month…' Pulling the tunic and trousers on, she found that they fit rather well, though the pants were a bit tight around her hips. 'Nothing a bit of seam adjusting can't fix…' At last, she unfolded the creamy white apron dress and pulled it on overtop everything. 'If I wear this home, this isn't going to be white for long. Just being within a few feet of da' will make it dirty…'

After tugging on her boots, she headed out through the back door. Gothi was knelt down beside a tiny garden –Thora was more than a little surprised to find such a thing up there- pulling weeds out of the soil. She glanced up as the teen approached her, a smile coming to her features.

'They fit you nicely,' she wrote in the dirt.

"The trousers are a bit tight, but aye, they fit well enough. Thank you."

'Feel free to alter them. They're yours now. Clothing, as well as your body, is something you must keep clean, so I suggest washing your other clothes when you return home.'

Thora nodded in understanding as she crouched down beside Gothi. "So what plants are these?"

In front of each plant, Gothi wrote out their names. 'Mugwort. Angelica. Yarrow. Chamomile.'

"An' I'm guessin' these are some o' your most-used plants?"

Gothi nodded and continued to write. 'Just a few of them. I grow them here in my garden because I can't forage for them in the forest as often anymore. These old bones can't handle climbing over boulders and fallen logs for very long these days. You, on the other hand, are still young and limber enough to do just that. As such, I want you to bring me three of each of these specimens by tomorrow morning as well as some cedar bark.'

"Three o'  _each_?!" Thora asked, incredulous.

Gothi circled 'by tomorrow morning' with a nod.

Leaning back on her haunches, Thora bit her tongue and nervously glanced away. "I'll need a bit o' time, then…I mean, Berk's a pretty large island."

Raising her brow, Gothi swiped the dirt clear before writing anew. 'The herbology contains all you will need to know on where they can be found,' she reminded her. 'The only thing you will have to worry about is not damaging the plants before you get them here.'

Thora sighed and nodded in understand. "Alright…I think I can handle that," she replied, her tone a bit on the defeated side.

Gothi scratched some more words into the dirt. 'Now, our lesson for today is over. I daresay you'll be busy the rest of the day.'

She led Thora back into the house, where the teen gathered up her dirty clothes as well as the herbology. Lightly patting her on the back, Gothi watched her take her leave before turning towards the now-steaming pot of yak noodle soup.

* * *

Thora plopped down on a fallen log and set down the bag she carried. She let out a heavy sigh and leaned back slightly, her eyes shut as she let the noises of the forest encompass her. After spending the morning at Gothi's, she was more than happy to be outside once more, especially since she no longer had to worry about making a fool of herself.

"Oh gods, I don't know if I'm cut out for this," she mumbled to herself, opening her eyes and staring upwards. Rays of sunlight were scattered by the boughs of enormous evergreen trees, making it seem as if the forest floor shifted about like the ocean. "Healing's one thing, but doin' the magic an' whatnot?" Shaking her head, she reached down and pulled the herbology from her bag. "Alright…Angelica. That should be towards the front, aye?"

Flipping open the book, she was taken aback by how highly detailed Gothi's drawings of each plant were. Small, fine handwriting was sprawled across the pages, giving her everything she would need to know about petals, roots, leaves, and more. She was almost afraid to turn the pages, not wanting to smudge the long-dried ink on accident.

Angelica, like she thought, was towards the front of the book. From the picture, she saw that it was a tall plant, with many tiny yellow and white flowers dotting the top of the stem. Its leaves were large and grew in sets of three.

" _Angelica. This flower is commonly found throughout the island o' Berk and Healer's Island,_ " she read aloud. " _All parts o' this tall flower are useable, though the root is highly poisonous until dried._ Well, that's lovely. I'll make sure not to touch it then…" She scanned the page, looking for its preferred habitat. "Aha, here we go… _Angelica is a flower that isn't a fan o' sun. Normally, it can be found on the edges o' meadows, tucked away in the foot o' the forest. If you're unsure if you've found angelica, smell the plant. If it smells strong an' tangy, then you've got the right one._ Easy enough. Edge o' meadows an' likes the shade. Got it."

Next, she turned the pages, looking for chamomile. She soon found it, seeing a drawing of what looked like a daisy. The only differences she could see were that daisies had longer and more plentiful petals whereas chamomile had a single layer of short, stubby petals; the leaves, too, were different in that the leaves of a daisy were long and broad while chamomile leaves were more like feathery clusters.

"Alright, Gothi, let's see what ya have t' say about this one… _Chamomile. Not t' be confused with yellow chamomile, which is only useful in the dying of fabrics. A versatile plant, its flowers an' leaves are best for medicine. Oil made from chamomile…_ blah, blah, blah…ah, here we go.  _Chamomile loves the sun! It can be found in most meadows in the archipelago, though be careful not t' mistake it for a daisy. If it's growing near water, it's most likely a daisy, as chamomile likes drier, well-drained soil."_ She shifted her position so that she was laying on the log, holding the book above her.

"Mugwort…mugwort…where is the mugwort…" she mumbled, turning through the pages. Instead of finding mugwort, however, she first came across yarrow. "Sure, the first two were in order –uh-oh."

From the drawing, she could see that yarrow was extremely similar in appearance to angelica. The leaves seemed to be the one difference between the two plants; yarrow's leaves looked like minute ferns growing along the stem.

She brushed a bug from her face with her tail. " _Yarrow is a handy plant t' have around…good for fevers an' stoppin' bleeding…_ Ooh, a magic use.  _Yarrow is widely used in love charms an' protection charms._ I'll have t' keep that in mind.  _This plant can be found in most open areas and along roads. Does_ _not_ _like t' grow on the western edges o' Berk_." At that, she groaned and lightly smacked her forehead.

"O' course one of them had t' be all the way across the island," she grumbled. Rolling her eyes, she began anew her search for mugwort.

At last, she found it near the back of the book. The drawing made the plant look more like a small bush with thick, purple stems; tiny, white flowers; and needle-like leaves. Reading through Gothi's description, she learned that it liked rocky soil near sources of water. Two places that Gothi mentioned in particular were the Unlandable Cove and Madman's Gully.

Thora stood up and, after brushing bits of bark and moss from her clothes, tucked the herbology back into her bag. She was just about to shoulder the bag when a roar broke through the usual forest noises. Above her, the birds flew off, frightened, and the insects became silenced. Again, she heard the roar and shuddered.

'There's a dragon somewhere in the area,' she thought, peering around at the forest. 'Sounds like it's west of me, so I should be safe, since I'm going east…' A third roar sounded; this time, however, it sounded less aggressive and more helpless. 'Probably a young dragon looking for its mum. Won't be getting mugwort from the cove then!'

Shouldering her bag, she quickly left the log behind her. She was careful to pay attention and listen to her surroundings; she did  _not_ want to be caught off guard by a dragon. Luck was on her side –at least, for now it seemed that way- and she eventually made it safely to the eastern side of the island.

She shielded her eyes from the warm, late autumn sun as she stepped out from under the forest's cover. Before her was a wide, open field filled with all sorts of different flowers. Pulling out the herbology, she opened it and began her search. More than once, she was convinced she had found chamomile only to realize that it was actually a daisy.

By the time she had found the needed amounts of angelica, chamomile, and yarrow, the sun was hanging low in the sky and heavy, dark clouds were rolling in. She shivered against a cold breeze and knew there would be thunder that night.

'Just cedar bark and mugwort left,' she thought, heading back into the forest. 'How much would three cedar barks be, though? Three strips? Three chunks? Augh, I should have asked for clarification…'

Reaching Madman's Gully was a bit of an adventure. She had completely forgotten that, in order to reach it, she would have to scale Huge Hill –which was made up of a mixture of oyster shells, sharp rocks, and enormous boulders- before sliding down the other side. After that, it was a fifteen minute walk to the gully, whose sides were close to sheer.

Peering down into the gap, Thora was unable to see the bottom thanks to its depth. "Nothin' I can't climb," she mumbled, sliding over the edge of the cliff.

Climbing down the cliff was a bit harder than climbing trees, but she was able to find handholds and footholds after a brief moment of searching. As she descended, the clouds above got darker and darker, gradually blocking out most of the sunlight. She frowned, glancing over her shoulder to try and get a better look at her destination. The angle, however, only allowed her to see the river gushing below.

'Gods, please don't let there be any dragons down here,' she thought, biting her tongue. 'The last thing I need right now is to be boiled alive by a Scauldron or blasted into pieces by a Thunderdrum…'

Finding her eyes to be all but useless at the moment, she closed them. Instead, she focused on listening to her surroundings, hoping to hear more than she could see. She paused in her climb, taking slow, deep breaths in order to make herself as quiet as possible.

The river was below, a few paces from the cliff.

The wind was above, winding its way through the tall grass.

The thunder was in the north, rolling its way towards Berk.

The Terrible Terrors were in the south, wrestling on the riverbank.

'Wait, what?' she thought, brow rising. 'Terrible Terrors? Well…I'll take them over a Scauldron or a Thunderdrum any day.'

Continuing her descent, she soon found herself at the gully's bottom. It was narrow down here, with the river taking up most of the room. When her eyes had adjusted to the light level, Thora could see that there was maybe three paces worth of ground before it turned into water. Sparse tufts of grass grew close to the bank, as well as plenty of clusters of the purple-stemmed mugwort.

Despite her target being so close, she found herself hesitant to go near it, for the two Terrible Terrors were between her and the plant. They had yet to notice her as they fought one another; Thora thought they resembled Ruffnut and Tuffnut in the midst of one of their squabbles.

'Alright. Terrible Terrors…stoker class,' she thought, staying completely still. 'Normally live in packs and can be very stealthy when they need to. Also prone to fighting with pack-mates. Not the smartest of dragons, either. So, sneaking around them should be easy. Unless there are more members of the pack around.' Glancing up, she tried to peer around at the cliffs to see or hear if there were any more terrors in hiding. She let out a quiet, relieved breath when she found none.

Gingerly, she began creeping her way towards the nearest bunch of mugwort. The brawling dragons still took no notice of her, so she knelt down and drew a dull knife from her bag. She used it to dig around the roots before carefully prying the wad of flowers and roots out of the ground.

"One, two, three –good, enough here t' please Gothi," she mumbled, inspecting the plant for damage. Tucking the knife back into her bag, she then shifted around the other plants she had gathered only to realize the problem with the mugwort.

It was much too tall.

"Alright, how do I fix this?" She yelped as a small fireball shot past her, taking off the top two feet of the plant. Spinning around, she found both Terrors glaring and growling at her. The larger of the two, orange in color, had smoke furling out of its nostrils, while the other, blue, merely glared at her.

"N-no need t' shoot me, dragons," Thora stammered, taking a step back. "I'm only here for the plant, I swear!"

The dragons followed her every movement as she slowly put the 'trimmed' mugwort in her bag. The orange Terror clawed at the ground, baring its teeth at the teen in a show of dominance. Meanwhile, the blue one cautiously began crawling towards her, causing her to take another step back.

Glancing from the cliff and back to the dragons, Thora estimated her chance at escape. Yes, the dragons were small, but she had nothing to defend herself with and there was still a slight chance more lurked nearby. As the blue Terrible Terror stalked ever closer, she knew her options were limited.

'Gods, don't let me get killed now!' she thought, bolting towards the gully wall. As she neared it, she leapt upwards, somehow managing to find a handhold. She scuttled up the cliff, listening to the angry noises of the Terrors below. When she was just over halfway up, she peered down at the ground.

The two dragons were wrestling with one another once more.

"Thank you, Odin," she muttered, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

Rain had started to fall by the time she had reached the top. It wouldn't have been so bad if the wind hadn't picked up as well, making it feel as if she was being hit by hundreds of needle points at the same time. She sighed and pulled her bag closer to her before hurrying back the way she had come.

Thora was more than thankful to reach the cover of the forest after climbing over Huge Hill again. By then, the storm had fully hit with the howling wind blowing the rain nearly horizontal and thunder so loud, it shook the earth. Every time lightning struck, she let out a small, fearful whimper and covered her ears, trying to block out the sound but failing miserably. The trees, at least, provided some cover from the wind and rain, so she ran as fast as she could back towards the village.

'You're fifteen, Thora,' she told herself as she ran. 'You're fifteen! You know you don't need to be afraid of storms anymore.'

'But whenever a storm's here, it means Thor's angry and when he's angry, it's normally because of trolls and jötunns,' another part of herself argued.

'Or Loki. Come on, Thora –you're close to the village. Viking up and get to the Great Hall before dinner gets cold. You know how disgusting cold yak meat is.'

Keeping her ears covered, she did her best to run faster. She didn't really need to, for she reached the village a lot sooner than she expected. Not that she wasn't thankful; a painful stitch was forming in her side and it only got more painful as she climbed the stairs leading up to the Great Hall. She shoved open one of the doors, the hinges creaking loudly and drawing attention to her as she stumbled in.

"Well, well, well! Look what the yak dragged in!"

"Sh-shut up, T-Tuffnut," she panted, doubling over. She didn't care about the puddle that was quickly forming on the floor around her. "N-Not in the m-mood for it…"

He frowned, straightening his back in insult. "Geeze. I was just trying to make a joke," he told her, crossing his arms. He stuck his nose in the air and looked away. "The nerve of some people…"

Ruffnut snickered, but knew better than to say anything as Gobber walked by.

"What happened t' ya, Thora?" he questioned, frowning as he shut the hall door for her. "Ya look like a twice-drowned yak." Using his hook, he flipped some of her hair from her face.

Glancing up at her father, Thora continued to breathe heavily. "H-had t' h-hunt th-things for G-Gothi," she explained. "G-got c-caught in the st-st-storm. S-side hurts. T-talking hurts."

"Wait, Gothi?" Ruffnut dared to question. "Why were you gettin' stuff for her? She's got like, walls of dried plants and stuff."

"Is that why you missed training earlier?" Tuffnut added, his brows knitted together.

Gobber shook his head at the twins. Somehow, the two of them had managed to be the first trainees to arrive for that night's review. "She didn't miss anything," he told them.

"Except Hiccup nearly getting his head blasted off by a Gronckle," Ruffnut cackled.

Thora shot upright. "What!?" she cried, eyes wide. Promptly, a groan of pain left her mouth and she clutched her side before hobbling over to a table.

Gobber thwacked Ruffnut upside the helmet with his hook. "Hiccup's fine," he assured his daughter. "As for Thora not being in class, it's because she's in a  _different_ class. She's Gothi's apprentice."

The twins looked at Thora, a mixture of disgust and intrigue on their faces. "Wait, so you're like…learning magic and stuff?" Tuffnut asked.

"And which plants are good to eat and which ones aren't?" Ruffnut added.

Thora nodded, wringing out her hair. "Aye, I am," she replied. Seeing the glints in their eyes, she quickly added, "But I haven't learned any o' that yet! Today was just an introductory sort o' day." She watched as Gobber hobbled over to the fire, where a pair of wild boars were being roasted. Her stomach rumbled in hunger.

The glint didn't leave their eyes. "But…say you someday learn which plant can make someone's hair fall out…" Ruffnut slowly inquired.

"No, I won't give it t' ya," Thora sighed. "Healers  _heal_  an' that's what I'm mostly goin' t' be learning." She peeked up at the twins. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure no plant can make a person's hair fall out. I know there're ways t' make it grow back…"

"Lame!" the twins chorused.

Tuffnut leaned back, crossing his arms once more. "What's the use in learning magic and plants and stuff if you're not going to use it to cause a little mischief?"

Gobber came back, holding a plate filled with meat and roasted veggies. "The point is to learn how to save someone's life," he retorted, giving Tuffnut a look. "After all, someday you may need medical attention an' Gothi won't be around. Thora will be the one who'll have t' help you!" He set the plate in front of Thora, who gladly thanked him. He ruffled her hair with the back of his hook.

"Pft. I'll just have my mom fix me up like she always does," he argued.

"No, he does have a point," Ruffnut stated, agreeing with Gobber. "Mom's not going to be around forever. Then it'll be up to Thora to save your sorry butt. Unless she's not around, either. Then I get to watch you in the throes of agony and death."

At that, Tuffnut seemed to perk. "Or  _I_ get to watch  _you_ in the throes of agony and death! That would be  _awesome_!"

Shaking her head, Thora picked up a piece of meat and took a large bite out of it. "You two are so morbid," she told them after swallowing.

"Thank you," Ruffnut grinned. "I think that's the first compliment you've ever given us!"

"I don't quite think it was meant as one," Gobber muttered, pulling a stool over to Thora's table. He made sure to position himself so that he could keep an eye on the door. "So, Thora, how was your lesson today?"

She finished chewing another bite of boar. "It was alright. I got a bath."

"A bath!? But ya just had one on Sun Day's Eve! It's not called Washin' Day for nothin'!"

Thora chuckled, her brow rising. "Really? Then why don't  _you_ ever seem t' wash on it, hm?"

Gobber frowned. "Well, that's because I'm a respected Viking warrior! We don't have t' bathe unless we want to. After all, the smell is part o' why we're so fierce."

"The smell is part o' the reason why I have t' leave the windows open at night," she replied, giggling. "Anyway, I have t' bathe more often now. It's because healers can't be dirty, unless they want wounds t' get infected. An' like I told the twins: Healers are supposed t' heal."

"I don't know," Gobber replied, his tone betraying his skepticism. "Sounds fishy t' me. I mean, we warriors get on perfectly well without that bein' clean business."

Thora didn't reply to that; instead, she merely shrugged and continued eating. She watched as Gobber got up again, moving to refill his mug of ale. As she picked up a roasted beet, she felt as if someone was watching her. She glanced around as she popped the beet in her mouth, trying to see who was staring at her.

Turns out, it was the twins who were staring at her…from less than a foot away, which startled her.

"What?" she asked, brow raised and chewed up beet shoved to the inside of her cheek.

"Something's  _off_ about you," Ruffnut replied, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah.  _Off_ ," concurred Tuffnut.

She pulled a chunk of meat from a bone. "Well, I'm soakin' wet. How's that for 'off'?"

Tuffnut shook his head. "No. It's not that."

Ruffnut thoughtfully rubbed her chin. "You look… _different_ somehow."

Thora looked down at herself, almost surprised by the clothes she was wearing. "Oh, yeah…that. Gothi gave me some new clothes."

Reaching over, Tuffnut tugged at the strap of the apron dress. "White's not really your color. Kinda washes you out."

"Yeah," Ruffnut agreed, tilting her head before grabbing Thora's arm and inspecting the sleeve of her tunic. "But this tunic color is good, even if it does blend in with your hair."

Pulling her arm away from Ruffnut and shooing away Tuffnut's hands, Thora leaned away from the twins. "An' just when did the two o' ya become experts on clothin' colors?" she demanded.

"We've always been good with it," Tuffnut replied, his tone and facial expression sincere. "Ruffnut's better with colors, but I'm good with fabrics."

"Yeah, you should see the curtains he's made for-"

Both twins glanced back as Gobber called their names. While they had been distracted by Thora's new clothes, the rest of the trainees –sans Hiccup- had arrived. Rolling their eyes, they left Thora alone and went to go sit with their class.

"Weirdos," Thora chuckled under her breath.

All was quiet and peaceful for nearly a quarter of an hour. When she had finished her dinner, Thora fetched herself a mug of ale and found a table closer to the fire. She pulled out the herbology, praying it hadn't been damaged by the rain, only to realize it had been bound in oilcloth. Breathing a sigh of relief, she opened it up and flipped to the first flower, intent on studying it.

When nearly an hour had passed, the doors to the Great Hall opened once more and Hiccup came in. Thora, however, didn't notice. She was absorbed in learning about a rare spice called cardamom and how it could be used to flavor wine as well as be used to relieve stomach ailments.

 _"_ _Boil wine with seeds of cardamom to help relieve inner gas,_ " she read,  _"and to relieve the burning of the chest. For mulled wine, add two spoons honey, two handfuls each dried cherries, raisins, and one spoon each ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, clove, and nutmeg._ Huh. Sounds yummy…"

"What're you reading?"

She let out a yelp and tumbled backwards off her stool. Hiccup cringed as he leaned over the table, seeing if she was alright.

"Sorry…I thought you would have heard me," he told her, offering her his hand.

Taking his hand, she got back onto her stool with his help. She rubbed her hindquarters, having landing on them surprisingly hard. "It's fine," she assured him, rubbing part of her tail that had gotten squished. "I was learning how to make mulled wine."

"Huh. So you're reading a cook book," he joked. He sat down, placing his own book on the table. Thora instantly recognized it; Gobber had read it to her quite often when she was a child.

"An' you've got the Book o' Dragons," she retorted. "Mine's not actually a cookbook, though it does have some recipes. Gothi called it an herbology –a book o' plants."

Hiccup looked impressed. "That sounds cool," he told her. "I suppose that's how you'll tell good plants from bad?"

She nodded, closing the herbology for now. "An' how t' tell what they look like." She slightly lifted her bag. "Gothi already gave me some plants t' find."

"Which ones?" he questioned, leaning over and peeking into the satchel.

"Eh, angelica, chamomile, mugwort, yarrow, an'—" Her face suddenly paled and a look of horror came to her features.

"What?"

"I forgot t' get the cedar bark."

"…Cedar bark?"

"Aye! She told me t' get cedar bark an' I totally forgot because the storm hit!" Groaning, she flopped onto the table, face-down and arms thrown across the tabletop. "It's only my first day an' I've already messed up…"

He patted the top of her head. "At least you didn't come face-to-mouth with a Gronckle," he reassured her. "If it wasn't for Gobber, I'd literally be toast."

Thora lifted her head high enough to rest her chin on the table. "I thought the twins were exaggeratin' when they told me that," she frowned. "Ya really nearly got blasted by a Gronckle?"

"I had a shield! Kind of." Rubbing the back of his neck, Hiccup looked away in shame. "It may have gotten destroyed…"

She winced. "Well…at least ya  _didn't_ get killed. Seems like we both had rough days, huh?" She offered him a small smile.

"Yeah," he chuckled, resting his chin in his palm. "Though, this book is pretty interesting."

Thora sat up straight. "I'd agree if it hadn't been read t' me so often when I was younger. But it's your first time readin' it, aye?" Hiccup nodded. "Aye, then it'll be fun for you t' read. It has everythin' ya need t' know about all the dragons we know o'."

"Except the Night Fury," he corrected.

"Well, aye. We know  _of_ it, not  _about_ it." She then gave him a curious look over. "You've sure been on 'bout Night Furies recently. Still down 'bout that one ya almost caught?"

"I guess," he replied with a shrug. "It just seems odd to me that we know so much about other dragons, but nothing about the Night Fury."

She, too, shrugged. "Well, it's not like we can help it. Bork apparently never got a close enough look at one." Reaching over with her tail, she gave his shoulder a light nudge. "But hey, cheer up –ya survived day one o' da's training." She gave him a toothy grin.

Hiccup let out a small laugh. "Yeah, isn't  _that_ reassuring?" he joked. "I only have until my dad gets back to survive now."

"Could be worse."

"Oh?"

"Ya could get hurt an' I'm the one treatin' you." She smirked as he snorted. "See? Even you admit it!"

He rolled his eyes, but still wore the smile. "Only because you're new at it."

"An' you're new at fightin' dragons. Give it some time an' you'll get better."

"The same goes for you, missy," he told her, opening the Book of Dragons. "Even if you did forget Gothi's cedar bark."

Thora groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er...sorry about that major delay...Life went to hell for a while...

The storm had passed, giving way to gentle rain for the next few days. By the end of the week, the sun had returned, bringing with it cooler air that hinted at the coming winter. Nevertheless, the rising sun was a welcome sight to Berk's teenagers as they left their houses. For most of them, it meant that they would be able to fight another dragon instead of having to sit in the Great Hall and listen to Gobber's lecturing.

For Thora, it meant shielding her eyes until she reached Gothi's doorstep. Yawning, she lightly knocked on the door. She barely yelped as the door flung open and said nothing as Gothi grabbed her wrist, yanking her inside. After having been startled the first few times, she was growing used to it.

"So, what're ya goin' t' teach me today?" she questioned.

'Remember the stomachache remedy I taught your yesterday?' Gothi wrote.

"Aye. Warm honey with mint, powdered apple bark, an' the juice o' a cabbage."

Gothi nodded and continued to write. 'Today, you'll be putting that knowledge to the test. I would like you to gather up those ingredients, as well as some chamomile, anise, lavender, and rosemary.'

Thora's brow rose, but she didn't question the elder as she moved to do as instructed. 'Let's see…Chamomile also helps with stomach aches,' she thought. 'Anise is good for freshening breath and getting rid of critters. Lavender is calming…haven't read about rosemary yet. Either way, odd bunch of stuff to bring along for a stomachache.'

When she had gathered up the jars and carefully stored them away in a bag, she finally asked, "Who is it we're goin' t' be seein'?"

'Bucket,' replied Gothi. Taking her staff, she started for the door; she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Thora followed.

Walking down Freya's Stack was much easier and quicker than walking up it. Only a few minutes seemed to have passed before they two women found themselves on dirt streets. The village was beginning to wake up; the tradesfolk who hadn't joined Stoick on his quest were opening up their shops with help from their own apprentices. While walking by the bakery, Thora waved at Pála Hofferson, Astrid's older sister, as she opened up the window.

"What kind o' bread ya makin' today?" Thora questioned.

"Honey rye!" came Pála's answer. She cringed as a loud crash sounded behind her. "I swear t' Freya's bower, Egil, if ya dropped tha' yeast mixture-!" She turned away from the window and hurried to the back of the building.

The two females looked at each other, wearing matching smiles. They did not need magic to know that that was _exactly_ what had happened.

Gothi continued to lead Thora through the streets, turning a corner here and there until they found themselves on the doorstep of the Thorston household. Inside the home, Thora could hear Bucket groaning in pain while a gentle, female voice cooed to him in an attempt to get him to drink some ale. As he began to protest, Gothi knocked on the door with surprising strength.

Barely minute later, the door opened and there stood Ylva Thorston, mother of Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Despite the dark circles under her eyes and the few stray strands of hair lining her face, she looked as beautiful as ever. It was a well-spread rumor on Berk that Ylva was actually the goddess, Freya, in a human guise. Whether or not it was true, her presence intimidated Thora, who tried to half-hide herself behind Gothi –an impossible task, since she was a good two heads taller than the Völva.

"Ah, Gothi! Good mornin' t' you," she smiled. "An' good mornin' t' you, too, Thora. Thank you for comin' on such short notice, lasses." Stepping aside, she motioned for the two of them to step inside.

As she stepped into the house, Gothi dismissively waved her hand before going over to Bucket. He was curled up near the hearth, a warm blanket draped over his body as he clung to the bucket shielding his skull. Thora fiddled with the bag's strap, watching as the elder stooped down and started to inspect the man. She poked and prodded him, watching for if he flinched in pain or wriggled with a giggle.

Ylva came to stand beside Thora, her arms crossed over her chest. She let out a heavy sigh, blowing a brownish curl from her face. "The only downside t' having Gothi as our Völva is tha' she can't talk," she told Thora. "Though, I wouldn't trade her for the world." She looked over at the teen, giving her an exhausted smile. "You're lucky t' be trainin' under her."

Thora's cheeks darkened and her tail nervously swept across the floor. "But…I thought you were a healer, too?" she asked, her gaze quickly fixing on the straw-covered floor. "Didn't ya train under her?"

She quietly laughed. "Oh, no! I learned from me mum. I'm not near as good as Gothi is. I know how t' treat the stuff on the outside, but she can treat it all. Inside, outside, magical –whatever ails ya, she'll fix up." Turning back to Bucket, she let out another, quieter sigh. "Except, maybe, givin' Bucket back the half o' brain he lost."

"So…he really only has half o' brain under that bucket o' his?"

Shrugging, Ylva moved to add another log to the fire. "No, not really. He has a whole brain, but he lost half o' his smarts an' all his memory that day."

Gothi suddenly motioned to Thora, who hurried to her side, thankful for the distraction. The old woman wrote in the dirt of the floor, 'He has a fierce stomachache and a headache. You know of the cure for stomach pain, but what do you think should be done for the head pain?"

Thora bit her tongue as she thought in silence. After a moment, she looked through her bag, double-checking the herbs she had been told to bring. "Er…let's see. Chamomile is good for stomachs _an'_ headaches; anise is good for….is good for stomachs, breath, critters…"

'And?' Gothi wrote, looking very much the epitome of patience.

"Lung ailments?" Thora added, looking unsure. Gothi merely gave her a gentle smile, though her eyes shone with knowing. "Ah! Headaches, too!"

Nodding, Gothi scratched into the dirt. 'So, what would you do with those two?'

"Make a tea?" Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ylva watching her with some amount of amusement. Her cheeks turning beet red, she quickly turned her attention entirely back to Gothi. Even if Ylva hadn't been the most gorgeous woman on Berk, having someone other than Gothi watching her made Thora nervous.

Again, she nodded. 'And what of the lavender and rosemary?'

"Er, well, lavender is calmin', so I can add that t' the tea? I'm not sure 'bout rosemary though; I haven't read about it yet."

'Rosemary has many uses, but for today, it has the power to chase away nightmares as well as providing a calming scent. Along with lavender, we will place it beneath Bucket's pillow to ensure his rest is peaceful until he is well again,' Gothi explained. 'We could add lavender to the tea, but I believe it would overpower the chamomile. So, for now, we will use it only as a pillow.'

Thora nodded in understanding. "Sounds good," she replied. "D'ya want me t' get started on the honey mixture?"

'Do you remember how to combine the honey and cabbage juice?'

"I…think. Stop me if I'm doin' it wrong."

Before she could ask for a bowl, Ylva came over and handed a bowl and spoon to Thora, who shyly thanked her. Taking the ingredients out of her bag, Thora began to mix up the medicine. The whole time, she was watched by both Gothi and Ylva while Bucket fitfully slept on. She was careful to put the honey in the bowl first, then the cabbage juice. As she mixed the two together, she did her best to emulate the way Gothi had whisked them with the spoon before adding in crushed mint leaves and the powdered bark of an apple tree.

When that was mixed well enough, she waited for Ylva to put a pot of water on to boil by preparing the chamomile tea, always under Gothi's close observance. The whole time, the old woman said nothing; she only watched.

"How long have ya been her apprentice for?" Ylva asked, taking the chamomile powder from Thora and adding it into a second, smaller pot of water. She then tucked a lock of her chestnut hair behind her ear.

"About a week now," she replied, brushing some hair out of her face.

A shocked expression came to Ylva's face. "Only a week an' she has ya makin' medicine already?" she gaped. "It was months before me mum had me makin' anythin'!"

Both of them leaned over as Gothi finally wrote something in the dirt. 'Medicine is the easiest of the things I will teach her.'

Ylva patted Thora's shoulder. "Good luck," she told her before standing. She crossed the room, returning to Bucket's side. Thora watched as she ever so gently lifted his head –bucket and all- allowing for Gothi to place a few sprigs of rosemary and lavender beneath his pillow. He fussed a bit at being disturbed, but Ylva's soft voice lulled him back into quietness.

'How did those two terrors ever come from her?' thought Thora, her head tilted in curiosity. 'She's so gentle and they're so…not. Must've come from their father…' Lightly shaking her head, she picked up the honey mixture and carefully set the bowl in the now-steaming pot. She glimpsed upwards when Gothi hobbled over to check on her progress.

"Almost done," she quietly replied to the elder's inquiring look.

Gothi concurred. Taking her weight off her staff, she wrote in the dirt. 'After this, we will be going to the arena.'

"The arena?"

'Yes. Gobber had the sense to warn me that there could, possibly, be injuries today that would need tending to. And he also wishes for me to begin judging which of the teens is at the top of the class.'

Thora rubbed her arm. "But that means our lessons won't happen in the mornin' anymore, right? We'll have t' do them after dragon trainin' gets over?"

Again, Gothi bobbed her head in agreement. 'Yes, but every day, I would like for you to meet me at the arena with the basic healing supplies. I trust you've still got them in your bag from when I showed you?'

"Aye. In fact, my bag's near burstin' point now. If we add anymore, I'm goin' t' have t' get a cart t' pack it around," she chuckled.

Gothi smiled. 'One can never really anticipate what will be needed for house calls, I'm afraid –except for today, of course. I knew what was wrong with Bucket beforehand and wanted to test you.'

"Did I pass the test?"

For a moment, Gothi wrote nothing. Instead, she watched as Thora fidgeted in anticipation, her tail raised, but unmoving. Finally, she replied. 'Yes,' she wrote, 'but you must remember this: It will only get harder from here on out. In a few months' time –maybe even a few weeks, depending on how quickly you continue to learn- I will have you diagnosing ailments and treating them accordingly.'

Thora did not reply as she leaned forward, plucking the bowl of now-warmed honey and herbs from the water. She had a feeling Gothi knew she doubted herself, however, because the old woman stared at her, a knowing look in her eyes. Biting her tongue, she picked up the spoon and went over to Ylva and Bucket.

"Two spoonfuls o' this every few hours should help his stomach ease up," she instructed Ylva. "An' the chamomile tea should help his head."

"Can't I add the honey to the tea?" Ylva questioned. Judging by how carefully she spoke, Thora knew she had been instructed by Gothi to ask such a thing.

Thora glanced over her shoulder, looking at the Völva for any sign of instruction. Gothi, though, merely waved at her to continue and she bit her tongue, mentally cursing.

"Er –I don't think so. The different flavors may clash t' much when mixed together, makin' his stomach even more upset." She started packing up the jars. "Not t' mention, ya can use the tea as a way t' get the bad flavor o' the honey mixture out o' his mouth."

Ylva let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth to further mute the noise. "That I can believe," she replied. "Thank ya both for comin' over an' tendin' t' poor Bucket. It's a shame t' see him in so much pain."

Thora thought about how Bucket was normally: A bit dimwitted, but eager to help out around the village and extremely hardworking. And he was exceptionally kind to the village children, who often sought him out to play games when their siblings were too busy. Ylva was right –it _was_ sad to see him in such a state.

Gothi hobbled over to the door, motioning for Thora to follow. Waving goodbye to Ylva, she left the house with Thora in tow.

The village was just as deserted now as it had been earlier; only, now Thora could hear distant shouts and cries of fear coming from the Dragon Arena. Gothi had yet to hear the ruckus and merely continued to hobble along. It was when they were about a hundred yards from the area that the old woman paused, a stream of fire exploding from the arena's chained roof.

"Well, that's not good," Thora murmured, eyes wide and tail nervously wafting back and forth.

Gothi sighed and continued forward, motioning for Thora to hurry after her.

When they reached the arena, they found a surprising lack of bloodshed and dead teens. Instead, they saw massive walls had been constructed out of wood and placed around the area to make a maze. A Deadly Nadder was running along the top of the maze, its head twisting this way and that as it hunted its prey. The Viking teens were doing their best to be quiet as they crept through the wooden labyrinth –except Hiccup, who stood on the outskirts of the arena, shouting up to Gobber.

"You know, I happened to notice that the book had nothing on Night Furies," he called. "Is there another book? Maybe a little Night Fury Pamphlet?" He let out a yelp of surprise as a jet of fire missed him by just a few inches.

Thora groaned, smacking her forehead. "I thought he was done obsessin' over that dragon," she mumbled, causing Gothi to raise her brow in intrigue.

"Focus, Hiccup!" Gobber scolded, watching as Hiccup darted into the maze for safety. "You're not even trying!" He scratched his chin with his mace-hand. "Today is all about attack. Nadders are quick an' light on their feet! It's your job t' be quicker _an'_ lighter."

"I'm really beginning to question your teaching methods!" Fishlegs yelped, holding his shield above his head in terror.

Shaking her head, Thora couldn't help but giggle at the comment. "I've found myself thinkin' the same thing quite a few times in me life…"

Gothi smiled before hobbling away to go speak with Gobber. Thora watched from the corner of her eye as the Völva attempted to use her staff to scratch into the hard earth, but she frowned. The ground was just _too_ hard for writing. Gobber began searching on his person for a knife or something sharper for her to use, but he had no such thing –he had only packed his mace.

'That's not good,' thought Thora. Opening her bag, she started to search through it; there was a knife somewhere inside, but the plethora of herbs and roots she had been collecting made finding it a hard task. Finally, her fingers scraped past the hilt. 'Of course, you're at the very bottom of the sack…'

Tugging the dagger from her bag, she sprinted over to Gothi and Gobber, giving her father a small hug as she offered Gothi the knife, hilt first. The old woman aimed an appreciative nod at her before kneeling down and beginning to cut into the earth.

"Thora, love, yell at the recruits for me," Gobber murmured, his hand on his hip as he watched Gothi. "They're all clueless, 'cept for Astrid."

Her brow rose. "Er…" Turning back towards the ring, she stood on tiptoe and tried to locate all of the teens. Three quarters of the group had found good spots to hide, but Ruffnut and Tuffnut had just made a potentially deadly mistake and were heading right for the dragon. "Look for its blind spot!" she shouted as they drew closer. "All dragons have 'em!"

Ruffnut slammed into Tuffnut as he came to a dead stop, just three feet from the Deadly Nadder's mouth. It twisted and turned its head, knowing _something_ was in front of it, but the twins moved in perfect unison, staying hidden from its sight.

"Ugh, do you _ever_ bathe?" Ruffnut hissed, catching a whiff of her brother's foul body odor.

Tuffnut growled, his brows furrowing. "If you don't like it, then just get your own blind spot!" he snapped, elbowing his twin in the gut.

Ruffnut growled, yanking him around to face her. "How about I give _you_ one?!" she threatened, her hand balled into a fist.

"Blind spot, guys! Not deaf spot!" Thora called, fearing for their lives at that point. The Nadder started to chase them, squawking irritably as it nipped at their heels. "Oh gods…" Something moved below and she looked, finding Hiccup creeping out of the maze towards her.

"So, hey, ah…how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?" he questioned, an innocent grin on his face.

"No one's ever met one an' lived t' tell the tale," Gobber suddenly answered, gently ushering Thora out of the way. "Now get in there, Hiccup!" he ordered.

"I know, I know, but hypothetically-"

Gobber let out a heavy sigh, thankful for when Astrid brought the lad back to reality. "The lad's been obsessed with Night Furies lately. Don't know what brought it on, but if he thinks 'bout them any longer, he's goin' t' lose a limb –or worse."

Gothi scratched her chin in contemplation, her eyes following Hiccup's every move. He attempted to shield-roll past the dragon, but the weight of his shield stopped him halfway. It was painfully obvious that, even though he was the son of the chieftain, Hiccup was no warrior.

But he did have greatness inside him, Gothi knew that much. No, he may never become a great Viking warrior, but she knew someday, somehow, Berk would come to see it as well.

"I'll talk t' him later 'bout it," Thora piped up, drawing the old woman from her thoughts. "I'll see if I can get any sense into-HICCUP!"

The dragon had started to fly around, knocking down the wooden partitions. Hiccup, his back having been turned to the disaster at hand, was oblivious until Thora's shout. Spinning around, he was greeted by the sight of a wall –and Astrid- falling towards him. He grunted in pain as the girl landed atop him, her axe lodging itself firmly in his shield. If he hadn't been distracted by pain, he would have seen just how close he had come to losing his arm.

Some ways off, Ruffnut and Tuffnut were making snide comments about Astrid and Hiccup finding love on the battlefield.

Ignoring the twins and managing to untangle herself from Hiccup, Astrid jumped to her feet. She spotted the Deadly Nadder turning its head towards her and knew it would come for her. Planting her foot on Hiccup's face, she yanked both his shield and her axe from his arm. Behind her, the Nadder drew closer, its wings outstretched as it tried to intimidate her.

But Astrid was not easily frightened.

She swung hard as the Deadly Nadder came within feet of her, the combination of weapon and guard striking the dragon's skull. Such was the impact that splinters of wood and pieces of metal went flying in all directions as the shield shattered.

As the dragon, dazed and hurt, wobbled away, Astrid turned towards the teen boy curled up on the ground. "Is this some kind of a joke to you?" she snarled, ignoring the call of praise from Gobber. "Our parents' war is about to become ours." Aggressively, she aimed one of her axe's blades directly between his eyes. "Figure out which side you're on."

Even Gobber was left speechless by Astrid's boldness. He rubbed the back of his neck as Astrid stormed away from Hiccup. "Well…ah…guess I should…go put the dragon away," he murmured.

Gothi gave Thora a small nudge, drawing her attention. The older woman motioned down at the group of bedraggled teens before shooing her apprentice off. Mentally, Thora cursed; Astrid was already in a foul mood and she didn't want to add fuel to her anger with medicinal mixtures that stung or possibly smelled bad.

Trudging along behind Gobber, she entered the arena. The Deadly Nadder was huddled off to one side, its wing partially covering its face as it tried to nurse its injury. Pausing in her steps, Thora watched it for a moment longer; a small stream of blood trailed down its scaly skin only to fall to the ground in a small puddle. Gobber approached it and it flinched, causing Thora's breath to catch in her throat. It made soft, pained noises as Gobber started to push it back towards its pen.

'Most animals try to fight when they're hurt, especially big ones,' she thought, her head tilting and her tail slowly swishing. 'But it's not even snipping at dad. It actually looks pretty scared right now…and that sound it's making is…is really sad…' She could feel tears beginning to well in the corner of her eyes, but she managed to hold them back.

"What're you doin' down here?"

Snapping out of it, she saw the recruits walking towards her.

"Yeah. Don't you have magic lessons or something?" Ruffnut questioned, a brow raised.

Snotlout snorted. "'Magic lessons'?" he repeated, his tone snide. "That's just what we need after Hiccup's disaster! This loser trying to do magic!"

Thora's eyes narrowed and she threateningly barred her teeth at him; Snotlout had always managed to bring about her bad side. "Keep that in mind when I'm savin' your life someday," she bit back, restraining her urge to hit him. "An' for your information, I'm here t' check t' see if any o' you are wounded."

"Snotlout lost his brain," Tuffnut joked, a mischievous smirk on his face. "Oh wait, that's right -he wasn't born with one." His grin remained as the other boy tried to punch him.

Fishlegs suddenly thrust his arm towards Thora. "I've got a burn!" he chirped, proudly pointing at a large, reddish-pink patch of skin near his wrist. Thora could see bits of flesh already beginning peeling away, but she knew from years of dragon attacks that it was fairly mild in its severity.

"Alright, tha' doesn't look too bad," she commented, pulling his arm towards her to get a better look. "A bit o' chamomile an' lavender should do the trick." Reaching into her bag, she stole a peek up at Gothi; the old woman was watching her with an amused look. 'Thankfully almost everyone on this island knows to treat burns,' she thought, pulling out one bottle and one flower. Using her teeth, she unstoppered the bottle and poured just three drops of its liquid onto Fishlegs' wrist.

"What's that stuff?" Ruffnut questioned, leaning in close to observe. "It smells kinda like the soap mom makes us use…"

"It's lavender oil," replied Thora, corking the bottle once more. Then, she pinched the flower off of the stem and rubbed it between her hands. "It'll help the skin start healin'."

Cocking her head, Ruffnut leaned back slightly. "Huh. I always thought lavender was just for soap…"

"My dad uses lavender in his boots," Snotlout proudly declared. "Helps keep his feet healthy."

"Lavender has plenty of uses!" Fishlegs spoke. "It can be used to treat burns, to make soap, to help you sleep –it can even keep moths away!" When he saw the strange looks Ruffnut, Tuffnut, and Snotlout were giving him, his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "Er…But I'm sure Thora already knew that."

"Nope," she replied, using the flower to gently rub the oil over the burn. "Well, the moth part at least. I think everyone on Berk knew 'bout its uses for burns. I'm not pressin' too hard, am I?"

Fishlegs shook his head. "No, but…why are you rubbing a daisy on my wrist?"

"Dude, that's a chamomile flower," Tuffnut corrected, earning him a perplexed look from Thora. "What? Mom uses chamomile all the time with Uncle Bucket. She's always having us pick it for her."

"Yeah," Ruffnut agreed. "Their yellow bits are cone shaped; daisies are flat."

Snotlout rolled his eyes. "It's a flower. It looks like all the other flowers out there."

"You say that now," Fishlegs told him, "but when you end up picking a poisonous flower, you'll be thinking otherwise."

He dismissively waved his hand at them and started to walk away. "Whatever. I don't have time to talk about flowers and girly nonsense. I got to practice killing dragons." He sauntered off, muttering to himself about the 'uselessness' of knowing the difference between daisies and chamomile.

Tossing the spent flower on the ground, Thora found herself more than a little tempted to trip him with her tail, but knew better since Gothi was watching. "Alright, Fishlegs…just keep the burn clean an' any time it starts to sting, apply more lavender an' chamomile. Also, try t' soak it in some cool water at some point; that'll help it cool off." She turned towards the twins after Fishlegs thanked her and walked off. "Anyone else got an injury or something?" she asked, brushing some hair from her face.

"Tuffnut smells like a dead yak," Ruffnut smiled, ignoring the look of anger coming to her twin's face. "Got anything for that?"

"Ah…not really," Thora chuckled. "I suggest a bath an' some fresh clothes –for _both_ of you. Ruffnut, you smell just as bad."

Tuffnut let out an ugly laugh and pointed mockingly at his sister. "See? I'm not the only one who reeks! You had no right to complain about it!"

"Dude, your hair was all up in my face! I was gagging because of it."

"Yeah, well, your hair is always smelling like dead fish thanks to that oil you use!" he countered, shoving his head against hers. "So don't you go telling me about bad smellin' hair-"

"That's enough, you two!" Gobber hobbled over and pushed the two apart. "You both smell like death, so do as Thora says an' go bathe before I dunk ya in the ocean."

The twins stared at him for a moment, their faces betraying their confusion. Shrugging off Gobber's words in unison, however, they came to a silent agreement to not question him and simply leave.

Gobber shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. "So. What injuries were there?" he questioned.

"Just a mild burn on Fishlegs," she answered, looking around at the disaster area. "Not sure 'bout Astrid though; she left before you an' me could get down here."

He nodded in understanding, watching as she shifted a few things around in her satchel before closing it. "You will talk t' Hiccup, won't you?" He spoke quietly, even though they were the only ones left inside the arena. "There's somethin' goin' on with him an' it's worrying me."

Thora rubbed the back of her neck, biting her tongue. "I'll try my best," she told him, "but I can't promise that anythin' will come o' it. You know Hiccup. Once he's got his mind t' somethin', it's hard gettin' him t' focus on anythin' else."

Pushing his helmet back a bit, Gobber scratched the top of his head. "Aye, that's true," he admitted. "Well…I best let ya get back t' your lessons with Gothi." A grin coming to his lips, he reached over and lightly nudged her shoulder with his mace. "Don't want t' keep my wee lil' Völva-to-be away from her trainin', after all!" He gave her a teasing wink as she rolled her eyes, groaning.

"Da', please," she murmured, cheeks turning pink.

Chuckling to himself, Gobber mussed up her hair before limping off to clean up the arena.

When she returned to Gothi's side, Thora was promptly led away from the fighting ring. The old woman made no indication of where they were going; she merely led Thora through the village, only pausing once to squint towards the ocean.

* * *

 

By the time Gothi finally stopped, they were deep in the forest. She gazed around for a moment, observing the area before easing herself down onto a small patch of moss. Looking up at her pupil, she lightly tapped the ground in front of her with her staff. Thora sat as well, though her face betrayed her confusion.

'I suppose you don't know why I brought you out here,' Gothi wrote.

She shook her head. "Not unless ya want me t' go huntin' for herbs."

'Not today. Today, I teach you one of the most important things you'll come to use.'

Thora cocked her head, her tail unconsciously starting to slowly wag in curiosity. "An' that would be…?"

'Meditation.'

"Meditation? Isn't that another way o' sayin' 'takin' a nap'?" she joked. She instantly regretted it; Gothi had thwacked her upside the head with her staff. "Ooww…"

With a frown on her face, Gothi went back to writing in the earth. 'Mediation is vital to using magic and to being able to give advice,' she wrote. 'It allows you to focus your mind as well as permitting you to gather your energies. It is also useful when trying to induce trances for divining or seeking wisdom from the gods.'

Thora was still rubbing the sore spot on her head. "So, how do I do it then?" she questioned.

'First, you must get comfortable. Then, close your eyes and begin breathing slowly and deeply. All the while, I want you to concentrate on either your breathing or the sound of nature.'

"Alright…but how will I know I'm doin' it right?"

Gothi wrote nothing, but a hint of a grin appeared on her face.

Sighing in defeat, Thora shifted her position so that she sat cross-legged. Letting her hands fall into her lap, she closed her eyes and slowly breathed in through her nose before exhaling just as slowly through her mouth. She let her tail droop onto the ground, doing her best to put all her thoughts towards listening to the sounds around her.

Being so deep within the forest meant that there were plenty of noises to be heard. In the trees above, squirrels darted from limb to limb in search of nuts and roots to store for winter while birds sang their mating songs. Closer to the ground, insects hummed and buzzed as they sought out leaves to nibble on. Some ways off, a deer and her yearlings tiptoed through the underbrush in their pursuit of a filling lunch.

Some of the forest sounds, however, couldn't be heard by simple human ears. Though half human, Thora's troll blood allowed her to hear the hushed voices of the trees and the bubbling laughter of a nearby stream. There were other things, too, whispering amongst the forest, but she couldn't quite tell what they were.

She had never really noticed these noises before, but now she smiled, feeling herself grow strangely calm. The scent of damp earth seemed to grow stronger around her and an odd coolness began to creep up her fingers and into her arms.

The whole while, Gothi watched her, sitting still and silent as a rock. Once in a while, Thora's ear would twitch or her tail had a small spasm, moving a few centimeters. But the girl remained still, her chest rising and lowering with careful breathing.

'She's doing well,' thought the elder. 'It's hard for a person her age to sit still this long, so for her to do so –and without falling asleep!- is a good sign…'

When nearly a quarter of an hour had passed, something moving near her foot caught Gothi's attention: The moss she sat on was gradually inching its way towards Thora. Thinking it merely an illusion, she shook her head and tried to push it out of her mind; after all, moss didn't grow _that_ fast, even in the most favorable of conditions.

But the longer she let Thora meditate, the further it crept along. Still wearing a frown, Gothi cut a line into the earth ahead of the moss, wanting to be positive that she saw the truth. It took some minutes, but eventually, the moss did cross over the line.

'This must be caused by her troll blood,' she thought, scratching her chin. 'I remember her mother being able to make plants grow quickly and out of season. Surely, she must have inherited at least the smallest bit of that talent?' Her brow rose and the frown was replaced by a smile. 'If so, this will certainly be beneficial to her future lessons! Yes, yes…though, troll magic is unfamiliar to me. I will teach her as much as I know, but I believe I must seek out help in her training…'

Still grinning, she finally reached over and prodded Thora's knee. The teen slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the light as if she were coming out of a heavy sleep.

"Did…Did I do well?" she questioned through a yawn, stretching her arms and tail.

'You did excellent, child,' Gothi wrote. 'I daresay you've gotten your first taste of magic, as well.'

At that, Thora cocked a brow. "Uh…what? I thought I was meditating, not doin' magic."

She motioned at the moss, which had stopped growing when Thora came out of her meditative state. 'I believe you'll find yourself wrong in that regard. When I sat down, this grass was no wider than a foot. Now it nearly reaches you.'

Frowning, Thora leaned down to get a closer look. There, indeed, was nearly a foot and a half of new-growth moss reaching out in only one direction. She let out a curse and flung herself backwards, eyes wide in shock.

"How did I do tha'?" she cried, pointing at the moss. "How?! I was just sittin' there, breathin' like ya told me to!"

Gothi's eyes nearly disappeared as she smiled in amusement. 'It is nothing to be scared of, Thora!' She set a gentle and reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. 'You should be proud! It took me much longer to grasp seiðr.'

"But I wasn't meanin' t' do it!"

'That could very well be due to your troll half. Until you somehow manage to make an entire forest grow without meaning to, I would not worry. I would prefer it, however, if you didn't tell anyone. Æsir help us if the twins were to find out you can do magic…'

"I think the Vanir would be better equipped t' handle that situation," Thora murmured, her eyes flitting back to the moss. Despite it having not grown anymore, she was anxious that it would start crawling towards her and she would be unable to stop it.

'True,' agreed the old woman. Shrugging, she motioned for Thora to stand. 'I think, for today, our lessons are finished. I would like for you to bathe tonight and study a bit of the herbology.'

Thora nodded, brushing off her hindquarters. "I can do that," she sighed, shoving her hair over her shoulder. She then frowned, watching as a spider crawled from the wild locks and onto her shoulder. "Not again…" she mumbled, flicking it away.

Gothi raised her brow. 'Do you often have spiders nesting in your hair?'

"Thank the gods, no. But since I can't really get a control over my hair, it manages t' collect all sorts o' things in it by day's end."

'I see. Well, I wish you luck in somehow taming it. Oh, and remember: Our lessons begin at noon from now on.'

"I'll remember. Do ya want me t' walk with ya back to the village or…?"

Shaking her head, Gothi reassuringly smiled. 'I will return on my own. This land has never hurt me, so you have no need to worry. Good day, Thora.' Giving the girl a nod, she turned and began to make her way back to the village.

Thora turned, warily looking at the patch of moss yet again. 'So…I can do magic,' she thought, cautiously kneeling down. Reaching out, she let her fingers brush over the moss; it was soft and cushiony. 'But how did I do it? I was only sitting and listening to things. I wasn't _trying_ to do anything.'

Wanting to test herself, she closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply once again. Unlike the first time, however, it was harder for Thora to calm herself. Her insides felt jittery and her mind was racing with thoughts of magic and of plants and of Hiccup. She gave up after a few, failed minutes had passed, finding the moss unchanged.

"Why did I think this was going to be easy?"

 

* * *

 

 

"...And with one twist he took my hand an' swallowed it whole!" Gobber recanted, grinning as he saw the looks of morbid curiosity on the faces of the teens. "I saw the look on his face: I was delicious. He must have passed the word, because it wasn't a month before another one o' them took my leg." Holding out his peg leg, he gave it a wiggle for emphasis.

Fishlegs stared at him for a silent moment, his mouth partially hanging open. Then, he grinned and spoke up. "Isn't it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon?" he questioned. "Like…if your mind was still in control of it, you could have killed the dragon from the inside by crushing its heart or something!" As he talked, he gestured about with two legs of lamb, occasionally smacking them together before finally taking a bite of one.

Snotlout was unimpressed by Fishlegs' theory and could tell that Gobber was as well. Wanting to suck up to their teacher, he put on an angered expression. "I swear I'm so angry right now!" he theatrically growled. "I'll avenge your beautiful hand _and_ your beautiful foot!" He paused for a second, watching as Gobber's brow rose. "I'll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight – _with my face_."

Shaking his head, Gobber leaned back in his seat. "Uh-uh," he chirped. "It's the wings an' the tails ya really want," he instructed. A bit of a smug grin came appeared on his face when he saw them lean forward, wanting to hear more. "If it can't fly, then it can't get away. A downed dragon is a _dead_ dragon."

Hiccup, who had been silent the entire time, perked. 'What if that's Toothless' problem?' he thought, thankful that he was hidden from Gobber's sight behind Ruffnut and Tuffnut. 'Maybe something's wrong and he can't fly! That's _got_ to be the problem!'

As Gobber stood up, Hiccup shrunk further into the twins' shadow. Waiting for the blacksmith to walk past, he darted after him, praying to the gods that no one noticed his absence –or, if they did, they merely thought that he, too, had gone to bed.

Instead of following Gobber home, however, Hiccup had other intentions. Where Gobber turned right, he went left –towards the smithy. Being that Berk was such a small village, the shop was left unlocked at night, letting Hiccup enter all too easily.

Darting upstairs to his private workspace, he pulled out his journal and flung it onto his desk. He lit a candle before opening the book, searching for his study of Toothless. Finding it after a few minutes, he examined it thoroughly, doing his best to find what was keeping the dragon from taking off. After all, it had been obvious to Hiccup that the dragon _should_ fly –he had tried many times since Hiccup first found him- but he just _couldn't._

And then, Hiccup saw it: Part of Toothless' tail was missing.

Grabbing a pencil, he made a quick sketch of what the missing fin should look like before grabbing the candle and heading back downstairs.

He made sure the door and windows were all closed before hurrying over to the furnace. He uttered his thanks to the gods when he found a few red-hot coals lingering amongst all the ashes. They were still hot enough that, with a couple puffs of air, they ignited the bits of kindling and dried moss Hiccup had covered them with. Confident in the small flames, he slowly added larger pieces of wood until he judged there to be enough for forging.

Then he got down to the real work. He threw scraps of iron into the crucible so it could begin heating up. While he waited for it to melt down, he busied himself with raiding Gobber's scrap heap for anything that looked remotely useful. After some minutes of rooting around, he had amassed a small pile of metal rods and varying sizes of leftover leather. The rods, he knew, would be very useful –once they were straightened out.

Despite the fire not quite having enough coals yet, he set the dowels within the flames. They didn't need to be red-hot for him to straighten out; they just needed to be hot. He could always strengthen them later, anyway. While those heated up, he measured out the bits of leather only to find that there wasn't really enough for what he needed.

'It'll still be useful,' he told himself, going over to the cupboard where Gobber kept the cow skin. 'I could use it for bindings or straps…'

So absorbed he became in his work that, when it came time to straighten the metal rods, he didn't realize the ruckus he was creating. Being on the outskirts of the village, however, meant that most people didn't hear the sounds of the hammer as it reshaped the metal, nor did they hear Hiccup let out a small curse when he accidentally bonked his forehead with the mallet.

But Thora did.

After her lesson had ended, she had spent the rest of her day scouring Berk for Hiccup –to no avail. Figuring she would find him when she went to bed, she had gone off to bathe as Gothi ordered. Now, however, as she walked through dark streets, wringing out her hair, she could hear the sharp, metallic ring of the hammer.

'That's not dad,' she thought.

She hurried towards the smithy, tying her hair into a quick, messy braid as she did so. As the building came within sight, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and crept up to the window, though she had no reason to be worried about Hiccup hearing her. He was too busy muttering to himself as he inspected his work on one of the rods.

'What in Midgard…?' she thought, a brow rising.

Hiccup tossed the straightened metal back into the fire and turned his attention to the vat of melting iron. Finding it just starting to melt, he crouched down and fanned the fire a bit more, praying for it to heat faster. He also grabbed more pieces of kindling, breaking them down and tossing them into the fire in hopes they would become coals.

Shaking her head, Thora finally went to enter the smithy, but found the door locked. She rolled her eyes. 'Of course he had to lock it…because who goes to the smithy in the middle of the night and keeps the door unlocked? Preposterous…' She let out a heavy sighed and began to make her way to the back of the shop.

Above her was the window to Hiccup's little workroom, its shutters flung wide open. Though it was a story off the ground, Thora didn't care. She approached the wall and started to climb it, paying no heed to if anyone spotted her. Reaching the window, she hauled herself over the sill and stood up, brushing off her skirt.

"What the…?" she mumbled, seeing Hiccup's sketchbook on his bench. Though only half a moon was out, it still gave off enough light to let her see the sketch of the dragon. "Is that supposed t' be a Night Fury? He chose an interesting look for it…"

She jumped as Hiccup dropped something on one of the anvils downstairs. A small curse left her mouth and she slipped out of the room, wanting to make sure he hadn't hurt himself. As she crept down the stairs, however, she found that he was perfectly fine –in fact, he was assembling one of Gobber's pellet forms, though it was obvious he was having some trouble lifting the heavy ceramic.

"Would ya like some help?" she asked, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

Now it was Hiccup's turn to swear and he nearly dropped the mold. "Thora! How ah…how did you get in here?" he questioned, trying his best to seem innocent. His eyes were wide, however, and they betrayed his worry. "And when?"

"I'm more concerned 'bout _you_ bein' in here," she told him. "It's late. You should be at home with me an' da', eatin' dinner."

"You dad and I already ate –with the other recruits," he answered, setting the half form on the counter. "But, seriously: How did you get in here?"

She shrugged. "Climbed in through the window in your workroom."

Panic covered Hiccup's face. "M-My workroom? You came in through _there_?" he stammered. "You didn't see… _anything_ did you?"

"I saw tha' drawin' o' the Night Fury you did," she admitted. "Quite nice; you're gettin' better-"

Hiccup groaned, letting his head fall against the counter. "Oh gods…" he mumbled.

Thora's brows furrowed. "What?" she demanded.

"You weren't supposed to see that! _No one_ was supposed to see that!"

"Why? I mean, it's really good. Though, I'm curious how ya came up with tha' shape for the body. Were ya goin' off other dragons in the mystery class or…?"

His head still resting on the counter, he shook it. "No…"

She walked over to the counter and, leaning over, lightly pushed Hiccup's head to the side so that he faced her. "Is somethin' wrong?" she asked, her brows still rutted. "Are ya tryin' t' build another trap t' take down the dragon…?"

For a moment, Hiccup was silent as he stared at his demi-cousin. Part of him wanted to tell her about Toothless and how he wanted to help the dragon. After all, she was his cousin; he had trusted her with secrets before and she had yet to freak out or tell someone about them. She wouldn't do that.

But another part of him argued against it. Thora was also the daughter of Gobber, one of Berk's best dragon killers. She had been raised, like the other teens their age, to know that it would become their life's work to hunt down and kill dragons for Berk's safety. She could easily overpower him, drag him back to Gobber, and tell him what was happening. More than likely, it would end up with Hiccup being put in chains or worse.

Groaning again, he stood up and rubbed his face irritably. "I don't know if I should tell you," he spoke, his back to her. "It's…it's pretty big."

Frowning, Thora stared at Hiccup's back, wondering what in the world was happening with her cousin. "Hiccup," her voice was gentle, "y'know you can tell me anythin', no matter what it is."

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Then sit down," he told her, "because it's…well. You'll find out." As Thora sat down on the dirt floor, he swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to tell her. Pacing in front of her, he wrung his hands together while muttering to himself.

The whole time, Thora sat silent, her eyes following Hiccup as he attempted to wear a track into the floor. Behind her, her tail slowly moved back and forth.

Finally, Hiccup stopped pacing. "Alright," he began, "I _did_ hit the Night Fury with my device. I found him in the forest, all wrapped up in the net I had shot. No, don't say anything yet." He had seen her about to congratulate him. "I was all ready to kill him. Had my dagger above his heart and everything. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't! I cut him free. _I cut him free, Thora._ He roared at me and ran off. Obviously, he didn't eat me. He didn't even hurt me, besides give me a headache with that howl of his. _But he didn't hurt me."_

The more Hiccup spoke, the less scared he became. The worry in his voice was replaced by excitement and he started gesturing more, as he always did when enthusiastic about something. "So I went looking for him the next day, after our first dragon killing lesson. He was alive! And he seemed unhurt. So, today, I brought him some fish."

Wonderment now filled his eyes as he recalled the next part. "I was so close to him, Thora! So close, I could almost touch him! But he wouldn't let me. Not then, at least. We played off and on throughout the day, when he wasn't trying to take a nap or trying to fly out of the cove. Oh! And his teeth are retractable! Did you know that? Night Furies have retractable teeth! Who would have thought?" He laughed, genuine happiness on his face for the first time in days.

"Oh man, Thora…it was awesome," he sighed, still grinning. "It was so awesome; something like that will probably never happen to me again…"

Thora said nothing, her eyes fixed on him and her tail completely still. He could see that her skin had paled, but there was no anger on her face –concern and a bit of fear, yes, but no anger. Hiccup let out a nervous laugh and glanced away.

"So…ah…I guess this is the part where you drag me back to your dad and tell him what a disappointment I am, right?" he jokingly questioned.

At last, Thora moved. Clenching her eyes shut, she shook her head. He could tell that she was fighting with herself and he didn't blame her. If their roles had been reversed, he'd certainly be trying to figure out what to do.

"You…you saved a dragon instead of killing it," she stated slowly, eyes still shut. "For fifteen years, ya've seen the damage done t' our village by dragons an' have nearly been killed by dragons yourself. One o' them even took your mum away from ya. An' yet, you still saved a dragon?"

Plopping down on the floor across from her, he nodded. "I did. But you should have seen him, Thora. He looked so scared…so helpless. I knew how he felt. I've always known how he felt. How could I not help him?"

"Can I tell ya somethin'?"

He frowned. "Of course."

She opened her eyes, raising her gaze to meet his. "I know what ya mean. A-about wantin' t' help a dragon, I mean."

"You do?"

"That Deadly Nadder today. The one Astrid hit? I…I wanted to go over and help it. It was so scared an' made such sad noises!" She shook her head, closing her eyes again. "But I couldn't. Not with everyone there like that. Especially da'."

His frown left, a small smile taking its place. Reaching over, he set his hand on her shoulder. "Feels weird, doesn't it?" he quietly asked.

She concurred. "But…But you. You actually _saved_ a dragon. If anyone were t' find out –I mean, Hiccup, that's basically treason!" Suddenly, she became worried. "What if someone from your class were t' follow you, Hiccup? What if they found out?"

At that, he let out a sarcastic laugh. "Why would they follow me? I'm the worst in the class and everyone thinks I'm too weird for them to hang out with."

"Well, they're not really _wrong…_ "

He pouted. "Hey…"

Her brow rose. "Prove me otherwise –which ya can't. But seriously, Hiccup…You need t' be careful. I wouldn't be able t' bail you out o' this one."

Slowly, he nodded. "I know, I know. And I am being safe. That's why I'm here at night." He smiled reassuringly. "And I know you won't tell anyone."

"No, I won't. But…Hiccup, you still haven't answered my question. What _are_ ya doin' here?"

"Oh. I'm making a new tail for Toothless. Er…that's the name I gave him, by the way. Because of his teeth."

She cocked her brow, her head tilting curiously. "A new tail? Why?" She watched as he stood up to check the crucible.

"Turns out…my net tore off one of his tail fins," he admitted, finding the iron to be liquid by now. "That means he can't fly. So, I'm making him a new one." Turning back towards the table, he started assembling the form for the ball bearings, though he had some trouble due to the weight. "With luck, he'll be able to fly in no time."

Standing as well, Thora easily lifted the mold into place for him. "And then what? What if he flies back here and wants to thank you or somethin'?"

Hiccup flushed dark red. "Actually…I…I was thinking about trying to ride him."

"What?! Like a horse!?"

"How else can I ride him!? Like a boat?" he retorted sarcastically. Pulling on a pair of heavy, leather gloves, he grabbed a pair of tongs, using them to lift the crucible from its holder. Ever so carefully, he carried it over to the table and was about to pour the molten liquid when Thora suddenly grabbed the tongs with her tail.

"You're shaking," she answered before he could ask. Focusing on the mold, she helped steady Hiccup as he slowly poured the iron into the die. Small flames and sparks leapt out of the other opening, but they brought no harm to the cousins. "Are ya ever goin' t' tell your da' about this?" Her tail released the tongs.

Again, Hiccup let out a sarcastic laugh. "And risk him killing me? No. He'll never find out." Returning the vat to its spot over the fire, he checked on the metal rods. Finding them bright red, he used the tongs to pull one out so he could begin tempering it.

She nodded slowly, watching Hiccup for a minute. Then, with a sigh, she hopped up onto the table. Now that the shock of Hiccup's adventure with a dragon had worn off, she felt tired –extremely tired. But then, she also remembered her own adventure from that afternoon and bit her tongue; it had been one of the things she wanted to speak with Hiccup about, thinking he could give her a bit of advice.

"Can I tell ya somethin' else?"

He glanced up. "You're not going to set the Deadly Nadder free, are you?" he teased.

"No. It's not about dragons."

"Then shoot."

Rubbing the back of her neck, she bit her tongue. "…Don't let Gothi know I told ya," she warned. "But I…I ah, did magic today."

He gave her a questioning look. "That's good, isn't it? You're supposed to be learning it."

"Well, Gothi thinks it's good…"

"But you don't?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know _how_ I did it. Gothi doesn't really know, either. She said it was probably because o' my troll blood."

He shrugged, dipping the rod into a bucket of water. A cloud of steam and a loud sizzling noise filled the air. "Well, she's probably right, you know. I mean…you _are_ half troll."

She sighed, feeling a bit frustrated; neither Hiccup nor Gothi had understood her worry. "Even if I am half troll, I shouldn't have been able t' do what I did, though! At least, in my mind I shouldn't have been."

"…What, exactly, was it that you did?" he hesitantly asked.

"I…Alright, this is goin' t' sound stupid t' you, but it scared me," she grumbled. "I made moss grow. But it was almost two feet o' moss, an' it grew _towards_ me without me knowin' or even tryin'."

Hiccup scratched the top of his head. "Well, what were you doing when you made it grow?"

"I was meditating." Seeing his confused look, she continued. "It's where ya get comfy and breathe deeply while tryin' t' focus on only one thing."

He turned back to his work, grabbing a second dowel. "So…what were you focused on?"

"The sounds around me."

"Which were…?"

"The sounds o' the forest. Y'know: Birds, deer, bugs, the plants, a stream…That sort o' thing."

"…You can hear plants?"

She shrugged. "Today I did; probably because I was meditating. I've never really listened that intently before. I mean, I've always been able t' hear things full humans can't, but it was so peaceful out there, I just…heard it all."

"Well, maybe it was _because_ you heard plants that you managed to make a plant grow?" he proposed.

"I hadn't thought o' that," she admitted, glancing at the floor as her cheeks darkened.

"It makes a bit of sense. You focused on something real hard, and because of it, you did magic." He smiled, trying to help ease her mind. "Maybe if you tried it again, you'd be able to do something else?" Again, he doused the tempered rod; again, he grabbed one from the fire.

She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms and tail around her legs. "I'm not sure I should meditate without Gothi there. What if something bad happens?"

"Something bad could have happened when I freed Toothless. Instead, something amazing happened." He looked up, still wearing the smile. "You know what our dads always say-"

"You won't know until you try," they repeated in unison.

A bit of a smile came to Thora's lips. "I suppose."

The conversation fell silent between the two. Thora continued to watch as Hiccup worked, which, thankfully, wasn't too much longer. Before the moon could reach its midpoint, he had finished making the new fin for Toothless and, with Thora's help, managed to get the smithy back to its somewhat-clean state.

When they returned home, Gobber was snoring loudly in his bed and a fire had to be built in the hearth to restore heat to the house. Thora, who hadn't eaten dinner yet, stole a bit of cheese and smoked meat from the pantry before crawling into her hammock. Before she could finish eating, though, sleep had overtaken her. When Hiccup got no reply when he told her 'goodnight', he lifted his head and smiled; her arm was hanging out of the hammock, a piece of half-eaten cheese on the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the course of the next two weeks, the atmosphere on Berk began to change. When the warriors had left, a feeling of worry and trepidation had lain over the village. Now, however, the air was filled with excitement and hope. The cause of such a change?

Hiccup.

Almost overnight, it seemed, he had gone from nearly being killed during training to being the best dragon fighter Berk had ever seen. With no weapon in hand, he managed to subdue the dragons and get them back into their cages. Sometimes, he’d even show off and give the dragon a good scratch behind the ear before closing it in is pen. Everyone left in the village started flocking to the classes just to watch him work his magic, hoping they could learn his secrets.

One person, in particular, tried her hardest to find out just how Hiccup had gotten so good. Whenever the class ended for the day, Astrid would do her best to follow him as he darted into the forest. She was positive he never saw her or heard her, and yet, every time, he somehow managed to get her off his trail. It was more than a little infuriating to her.

A certain pair of twins, however, thought they knew the truth. So, one day, after class was over, they set out in search of Thora.

“She has _totally_ got to be the reason he’s so good,” Ruffnut proclaimed as they stalked towards Gothi’s house.

“Yeah, she has to be!” Tuffnut agreed. “She definitely cast some sort of spell on him to make him into some…super human dragon fighter.”

Ruffnut smirked, giving her twin a light punch on the arm. “Think of all the people that will be coming to watch _us_ when we get her to do that magic to us!”

Tuffnut snickered, rubbing his hands together maniacally. “ _We’ll_ be the ones killing all the dragons and getting all the fame.”

“Well…Hiccup hasn’t actually _killed_ any dragons, per-se,” Ruffnut corrected. “But we’ll still get to kick dragon butt!”

“Yeah! Kicking dragon butt is the _best_!”

As they approached the pinnacle of rock, they froze mid-step. Gothi and Thora were walking down the winding platform, Thora carrying a large pot and Gothi squinting towards the horizon. Seeing this, the twins ducked behind some barrels, crouching down so they were hidden from sight.

“Dude,” Ruffnut whispered, peeking over the top of the barrel, “look at how tiny Gothi is compared to her.”

Tuffnut quietly snorted. “I know…it’s like a Terrible Terror standing next to a Timberjack.”

Ruffnut raised her brow. “Hm. I was thinking more along the lines of a Scauldron.”

“No way! That’s not nearly-” He was suddenly silenced as Ruffnut slammed her hand over his mouth and pulled him back down.

Ever so slowly and quietly, Ruffnut glanced behind the barrel just in time to see Thora pause in her steps and look around. Tuffnut tried to make a noise, but she shoved her hand harder against his mouth. It was only when the teacher-student duo were far down the road that she released him.

“You almost got us caught!” she hissed. “Let’s go; they’re almost out of sight. And be _quiet!_ ”

As his sister left their hiding spot, Tuffnut quietly mocked her orders. He then stuck his tongue out at her back, but followed. There was no way he was going to let _her_ get all the magic!

The twins followed Gothi and Thora all throughout the village, staying hidden when the two women paid visits to the Hofferson and the Larson households. Luckily, these visits were short –otherwise, they would have grown bored of their hunt. Knowing of Thora’s good hearing, they worked extra hard on being silent –an unusual task for them if they weren’t trying to prank someone on Loki Day.

Being quiet and hidden became nearly impossible when they realized that Gothi was leading Thora towards Cowrie Beach. Rather than going into the forest where there were plenty of trees to hide behind and soft dirt to walk on, the old woman was taking them through a wide, open meadow. In order to continue the hunt, the twins ducked into the tall grass and started to crawl parallel to the path.

By the time they came to a stop, the twins were covered in small cuts and burrs while bits of grass were stuck in their hair. All this they ignored, however, as it was normal for them to get so filthy. They lay on their stomachs and pushed aside a clump of grass, enabling them to see what was happening on the beach.

Thora used her tail to push her hair out of her face. “Now I fill this up with water from where the ocean meets the river, right?” she asked.

Gothi nodded, sitting down on a piece of driftwood. She watched as Thora walked over to a stream. The water at the bank was too shallow to fill the cauldron, so the teen held back her hair and waded out to the middle. Gothi shivered as she watched her; it was nearly winter and the water had to be freezing!

‘Are you crazy?’ she wrote, a worried frown on her face when Thora returned.

“What?” Thora stared at her in confusion before a look of realization quickly overtook her features. “Oh, the water!” She set the pot down. “Well, I’m goin’ t’ build a fire, so I’m goin’ t’ dry off anyway.” Shrugging, she started to gather up nearby pieces of driftwood.

Shaking her head, Gothi wiped away the words with her foot. ‘That means nothing. If it were any later in the year, you would be risking frostbite!’ She waved her staff at Thora in a scolding manner. ‘I don’t care if your troll blood makes you tougher; I don’t want to see you do that again, do you understand?’

Thora cringed as she read the reprimand. “Aye, I understand,” she murmured, cheeks growing red. Returning to her task of gathering wood, her ear twitched slightly when she thought she heard a giggle come from the grass. She looked, but saw nothing.

Soon, she had amassed a rather large pile of driftwood to use as fire fuel. Gothi still wrote nothing as she arranged the smallest bits of wood in a pile before placing larger branches around them. From a bag on her belt, she pulled out a bit of dried moss and some flint. Using these, she was able to get the fire started.

Gothi stood and moved closer when the fire was large enough to give off heat. Though she had wrapped herself in a warm cloak, her old bones were more than thankful for the extra warmth. Rubbing her hands together, she held them out towards the dancing flames, a small smile on her weathered lips.

Thora, however, did not stop to warm herself. Instead, she grabbed two forked pieces of driftwood and used a third piece to hammer them down into the sand. Then she lifted the cauldron of water and used that third stick as a support to hold the pot over the fire. Only then did she pause to warm up her hands.

‘Are you ready, then?’ Gothi questioned.

“I don’t think I’ve got a choice at this point,” replied Thora with a small laugh. Opening her satchel, she pulled out a bundle of flowers and herbs that had been tied together. “I add these now, right? Then the rest goes in when it starts to boil?”

Gothi shrugged, a mischievous look on her features.

Sighing, Thora bit her tongue before setting the bouquet in the water. Once the water began to boil, she pulled a jar from her satchel and, opening it, slowly poured its contents anti-clockwise around the edge of the water. Almost instantly, the water took on a deep, reddish hue and thickened greatly.

Yet again, she reached into her bag; this time, however, she pulled out a small bundle of mint leaves. Dipping this into the cauldron, she closed her eyes and slowly began to stir the potion with the leaves. Gothi watched her intently, a small smile on her lips as Thora began to recite a spell.

_“From spear-din or from illness_

_Their pain you shall ease_

_With root of earth and leaf of sky_

_Bring down the fevers, bring down the ache_

_Fill them with warmth and renew their strength_

_You shall keep them from Hel’s Gate.”_

Thora opened her eyes in time to see a glow fading away from within the potion. She wobbled a bit and Gothi reached over, helping to steady her.

‘Are you alright?’ she wrote.

“F-Fine,” replied Thora. “Just a bit lightheaded.”

The elder nodded in understanding. ‘That can happen when you’re not used to doing magic,’ she scratched out. ‘At least, this much magic.’ Not caring about the temperature of the potion, she dipped her finger into the liquid before tasting the results. It was briny, and yet tart –almost too tart, but when mixed with warm wine, it would mellow. Like most medicinal potions, it had a horrid aftertaste and left the mouth feeling slimy.

Thora held her breath, her tail nervously swishing behind her as she waited for the elder’s verdict. She had read over the instructions for the potion at least a dozen times, so she had been relatively confident that she had brewed it correctly. Part of her –a _large_ part of her-, however, argued against logic and brought doubt to her mind.

‘For your first potion,’ Gothi wrote at last, ‘you did fairly well. We’ll keep this batch; it’ll be needed come winter. But we need to work on your confidence.’

“My confidence?” Thora repeated, a brow rising.

‘Yes. Confidence is the key to powerful magic.’ She poked Thora’s stomach (unable to reach much higher) before wagging her finger in a reproachful manner. ‘Remember: If I thought you’d make a poor witch, I wouldn’t be teaching you. Trust yourself, child, and you will find your path much easier to traverse.’ Very lightly, she tapped the top of her staff against Thora’s forehead. 

‘Now then,’ she continued, ‘when the potion has cooled, bring it to my hut and we’ll bottle it. For now, though, rest a bit. I daresay you need it after imbuing that much magic into such a large brew. I’m heading home –yes, I’ll be fine on my own. Rest! I will see you in a couple of hours.’ Before Thora had the chance to argue, she turned and started to walk back towards the road.

Shaking her head, Thora removed the cauldron from the heat, nestling it in the sand to cool. She then plopped down and added more wood to the fire, realizing how cold her legs had gotten. As she warmed herself, she could heard the faintest bit of laughter from behind her, but saw nothing when she looked.

‘Probably the wind in the grass,’ she told herself.

Oh, how wrong she was.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut crawled from their hiding spots, the two of them wearing matching grins. Sand was the perfect terrain for them to sneak up on the girl; it dampened almost any noise made by their hands or knees. The only downside was the sand accumulating in their boots, but that was an easily fixed problem.

They stopped just a foot away from Thora. Ever so slowly, they rose to their feet and readied themselves for the pounce. Ruffnut held up her fist, slowly lifting her fingers one by one until-

“THORA!” they shouted, jumping on the unsuspecting girl.

She let out a roar of surprise and tumbled forward, the twins holding her down.

“Tell us how you made Hiccup so amazing at dragon fighting!” Ruffnut demanded, curling herself around Thora’s legs, pinning them together.

“Yeah! And then make _us_ amazing dragon fighters!” Tuffnut added, doing his best to keep Thora’s arms immobilized.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” snarled Thora. She wreathed against the two teens, doing her best to dislodge them.

Ruffnut winced as Thora’s knee slammed into her jaw. “Don’t give us that! We know you’re the reason Hiccup’s so good with dragons!”

“No one as bad as him becomes as good as him without some sort of magic!” Tuffnut cried. Using his weight, he sat on Thora’s arms, smirking as he thought he had won.

Rolling her eyes, Thora wrapped her tail around Tuffnut’s waist and threw him off her back. He flew a few yards through the air before landing on his back in the sand. “I don’t know what the two o’ ya are goin’ on about!” she snapped, glaring down at Ruffnut as she sat up.

Ruffnut stared up at her, scowling. “Just do the same thing you did to Hiccup to us and no one has to get hurt,” she told her. “Except maybe Tuffnut.”

“Why me?” he pouted, lifting his head from his spot. “Why not you?”

“Because I’m the pretty one.”

At that, Tuffnut snorted. “Yeah right, sister. You’re the hideous one.”

Thora rolled her eyes, irritated. “Will one o’ you just tell me what in Hel’s name you two are goin’ on about?!” she growled. “I didn’t _do_ anything t’ Hiccup!”

Frowning, Ruffnut released her legs and sat up. “You…didn’t?”

“No!” Standing up, Thora began brushing the sand from her clothes. “Now why in Midgard did the two o’ ya go an’ tackle me like that!? If I had had a knife or somethin’, one o’ you would probably be dead, if not severely injured.”

Tuffnut shrugged as he sat up. “Would have been cool to watch,” he told her.

She gave him a dry look.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed theatrically. “We were hoping you’d cast the same spell you put on Hiccup to make us awesome dragon fighters,” he explained, standing as well. Going over to Thora, he began plucking small twigs and bits of beach grass out of her hair.

“Yeah, but since you _didn’t_ cast any spells on him, we’re left with our dreams crushed,” Ruffnut added, joining her brother in trying to sort out Thora’s hair. “Also, you should really try braiding your hair. It wouldn’t get so…so…Tuffnut, help me out here.”

“Wild? Untamed? Disheveled?” he offered, his voice taking on an odd scholarly tone.

“Disheveled, that’s the one!” she grinned.

Thora cocked her brow and glanced over her shoulder at the siblings. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about them messing with her hair, especially when it rarely behaved when _she_ attempted to tame it. “I’ve tried, but it still ends up a mess. Er…twins? What’re you doin’?”

“Attempting to tame this hairy beast,” Ruffnut chirped. She pushed Thora over to a log, forcing her to sit down. “Tuffnut, my comb.” She held her hand out expectantly.

He gave her a look. “It’s on your belt, not mine.”

“Oh. Right.” She chuckled, reaching into a secret pocket on her belt only to pull out a long, wide-toothed metal comb. She then cracked her knuckles, a smirk on her lips. “Time to get to work!”

“Uh-oh,” mumbled Thora. She brought her tail around to her front as Ruffnut began combing her hair out, starting at the bottom. “Is this really necessary?”

“Consider it Ruff’s way of apologizing,” Tuffnut replied, sitting down in front of her. “She normally does this to me whenever we’ve had a bad fight.”

“It’s better than _your_ way of apologizing,” Ruffnut retorted.

“Hey, who doesn’t enjoy a nice eel in their bed?” He looked away, crossing his arms and allowing for a hint of a grin to come to his features. “They’re so slimy and cuddly…”

“Er, I don’t.” Thora peeked behind her, trying to see the work that Ruffnut was doing. “So, ah, about how long are ya goin’ t’ be back there, Ruff? I have a few things I need t’ do before I head back t’ my lessons.”

Ruffnut frowned as dueled with a particularly nasty knot. “You’re not done for the day?”

“Nope. Have t’ bottle up that potion later.”

As soon as she uttered the word ‘potion’, Tuffnut’s eyes widened and he started crawling towards the cauldron. With a curse, Thora’s tail whipped out, catching him by the ankle.

“Hey!” He tried to kick her tail off his leg.

“It’s not a dragon fighter potion!” she cried. “It’s a health restorin’ potion!”

He groaned and flopped backwards onto the ground. “Why are you so boring!? Can’t put spells on us, can’t make exciting potions…What good are you to us as a Völva if you can’t do anything cool?”

She rolled her eyes, feeling her cheeks darken slightly in embarrassment. “As soon as I learn how t’ turn people into rats, I’ll be sure to make you my first victim,” she told him, her voice filled with sarcasm. She smacked her forehead when he lifted his head, a wide grin on his features.

“To answer your earlier question,” Ruffnut spoke up, “shouldn’t be too much longer. I’ve got half the knots out now, but I’ll need Tuffnut’s help for braiding.”

Thora’s brows rose in surprise. “What? You’re tha’ far along already?”

She snorted in amusement. “Yeah. I’ve mastered the art of combing one’s hair in a timely fashion.”

“She’s had to,” Tuffnut quipped. “I mean, have you seen her hair in the mornings? Makes Grendel’s mother look like a golden goddess.”

“I’ll, uh, just take your word for it,” Thora murmured. She winced as Ruffnut battled a knot closer to her scalp. “Ouch!”

“Never said it was going to be painless.”

“Ouch! Son of an axe; I can feel that!” She squirmed slightly, doing her best to not simply yank her head away from Ruffnut. “Next time the two o’ ya plan on ambushin’ me an’ combing out my hair, let me know ahead o’ time, alright? At least then I can bring some oils t’ make detangling easier…”

Raising his hand into the air, Tuffnut once again adopted his academic voice. “That would defeat its purpose, my good lady! In order to have a proper ambush, one must be left wholly unaware of the situation.”

“And the ambushing party must have sufficient concealment before the attack, lest the ambush-ee discover their plan,” Ruffnut added, her tone matching her brother’s. “In example: Tuffnut and me when we were hiding in the grass.”

“Ah, indeed, good sister!” Tuffnut agreed. “Or when we sought concealment behind those barrels near the docks!”

“…The two o’ ya have been stalking me since Gothi an’ I left her home?”

“Of course, my good Thora!” Ruffnut answered. “How else were we able to so stealthily follow you all this way?” She beckoned for Tuffnut to come over. “Though, I daresay Tuffnut almost blew our cover with his attack of flatulence earlier.”

Tuffnut glared at her as he took half of Thora’s hair. “Oh excuse me,” he growled, his tone losing any intellectual quality. “You try crawling on your stomach for three miles and _not_ have to fart. It’s impossible.”

Ruffnut thwacked him with the other half of Thora’s hair. “Well, maybe next time, you’ll crawl on your knees like a _normal_ person would!”

Tuffnut growled and made to wrap his half of the hair around his sister’s head when Thora spoke up.

“Oi! My hair is _not_ a weapon!” she snapped.

Ruffnut playfully stuck her tongue out at her brother before beginning to braid her half of the hair. “So…Where’re you goin’ after this?” she asked after some minutes of silence had passed between them.

“I have t’ go t’ Mildew’s,” Thora sighed in reply.

“Mildew’s, you say?” the twins chorused.

“Aye. Da’ needs me t’ pick up some cabbages from him.” She then smirked, remembering how much the twins loved to torment the old man and his sheep. With how poorly he treated everyone on the island, she had no qualms about bringing them along. “Want t’ come with? I could _really_ use the company.” She would have batted her eyelashes if she knew they could see her.

The twins grinned at one another.

“Who are we to let a friend walk such a long road by herself?” Ruffnut pronounced.

“Especially one so dangerous,” Tuffnut concurred. “After all, we could be attacked by dragons at any second! We can’t let the future Völva of Berk get eaten, can we?”

“Well…we _can_ , but I don’t think Gobber would like it very much.”

Thora rolled her eyes with a small chuckle. “Thanks…”

Soon, the twins stepped back, each admiring their differing handiworks. While Ruffnut had opted for a fast, simple plait, Tuffnut had started his at the top of Thora’s head and worked his way down. The braids were fairly well done, though they looked odd when placed together. Not caring about presentation, the twins high-fived.

“Your hair has officially been tamed,” Ruffnut announced. “And now we can go to Mildew’s!”

Getting to her feet, Thora pulled the braids around to her front and inspected them. “Huh. Not bad,” she complimented, finding that they had, indeed, tamed her hair –for now. “Da’ always said my hair was too thick t’ braid.” She went over to the potion and picked up the cauldron.

“Well…yeah. He’s only got one hand,” scoffed Tuffnut. “We’ve got two. Er…four? No, no –two…Or _is_ it four?”

Ruffnut and Thora stared at him in mild worry as he tried to figure out just what he had meant.

“…Is he going to hurt himself?” Thora quietly asked.

“I hope so.” Grabbing the back of her brother’s vest, she started to drag him away towards the road. “C’mon! Let’s go to Mildew’s already!”

 

 

In order to get to Mildew’s house, the three teens had to head back through the village and climb up to Puffin Point. It was a bit of a trek from Cowrie Beach, but a fairly easy one. As they drew nearer to the old man’s home, which had been built partially atop a large boulder jutting out from a cliff wall, they could see the poorly-tended field of cabbages come into view.

“Yuck,” Ruffnut muttered, eyeing the cabbages cautiously. “Why does your dad want cabbage again, Thora?”

“Because my da’ knows how t’ make them taste good,” she replied. “The trick is cuttin’ them real thin and then cookin’ them with a bit of oil an’ vinegar in a big pan.”

Tuffnut shook his head. “Nope. Still sounds disgusting.”

Nearing the door of the house, the twins ducked behind the wall, smirking as they left Thora to deal with the old man on her own. She pouted at them, trying to earn their pity, but they ushered her forward. Sighing, she knocked on the door.

“What in Midgard?” she could hear from within. “Better not be those annoying twins again. If it is, we’ll show ‘em who’s boss, won’t we, Fungus?”

The door was thrown open and Thora found herself staring into the long, thin, and grumpy face of Mildew. He let out a small cry of surprise and jumped backwards, his bushy brows furrowing in distaste. His sheep, Fungus, bleated at the girl in an irritated fashion.

“What in Odin’s name is a creature like _you_ doing up here?” he scowled.

She held up three silver coins, which caught his attention. “Da’ needs cabbages,” she replied, her voice cool. “Three o’ ‘em, if possible.”

He eyed her carefully. “Does he now? Gobber’s always been quite vocal about his distaste for my lovely vegetables.”

“He found a way t’ cook them that tastes good.”

His nose scrunched up at the mild insult, Mildew held out his hand for the coins. “Well then, be my guest,” he told her, the wary look still on his face. As she turned, heading for his field, he stalked after her, wanting to make sure she didn’t take more than what she had paid for.

Knowing he was following her, Thora rolled her eyes. She set the cauldron down on the side of the field before going to hunt out three good cabbages.

“So, I’ve heard word that Gothi’s taken you under your wing,” Mildew commented when she knelt down to harvest the first cabbage. “An unusual apprenticeship, I must say.”

“You’re not the only one who thinks that,” she replied, keeping a civil tongue. Glancing up, she looked around for the twins, but found no sign of them. ‘Ugh, did they actually leave me alone with this jerk?’ she thought. ‘I thought they loved pranking him…?’

“I’m surprised Gobber and Stoick are lettin’ you learn such arts like magic and healing,” he continued. “After all, they know how dangerous it can be for a troll to learn magic. I’m honestly shocked that Gobber would risk his _sweet, innocent_ daughter’s life to such a fate…”

“An’ just _what_ is that supposed t’ mean?” she demanded, getting to her feet. She had picked two cabbages by then; she wasn’t entirely sure she was willing to stay long enough to grab a third.

He wore an all-too fake look of surprise. “You mean you don’t know?” he gaped. “Why, I would have thought Gobber would have told you! I would have –if you were my daughter, that is.”

Thora narrowed her eyes, her upper lip drawn back in a small snarl. “Don’t dance ‘round the bush, Mildew.”

Lightly shrugging, he glanced away. “I merely mean it’s fairly common knowledge amongst us adults that when a troll learns magic, it almost always turns out bad in the end.” Shrugging a second time, he reached down and gave his sheep a good scratch atop the head. “After all, magic is well-known for turning troll hearts black and their minds greedy.” He glanced at her, a bit of his smirk poking out from under his mustache when he saw her brows furrowed in worry.

Thora’s mind instantly filled with worry. “That can’t be right…” she mumbled, not looking at the old man. “They wouldn’t let me if that were the case…”

He patted her shoulder in mock sympathy. “Oh, but I don’t think _you’ll_ end up like that.” Mildew started to walk away, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh no, dear –after all, you’re only _half_ monster. I’m sure your human side will win out.”

“I’m not a monster,” Thora quietly growled, her teeth clenched. ‘But what if he’s right about the magic…?’ she thought.

Seemingly from nowhere, the twins appeared on either side of her. Tuffnut was eating a still-steaming leg of yak and Ruffnut had a small loaf of bread in hand. They glared at Mildew’s retreating back as they chewed the food they had lifted.

“What a jerk,” Tuffnut stated.

“Yeah, no kidding. I wouldn’t listen to him if I were you, Thora,” Ruffnut added. “He’s just trying to tick you off.”

Shaking her head, Thora let out a sigh, though her tail continued to nervously flick back and forth low to the ground. “I’m not so much angry as I am worried,” she admitted. “I mean, da’ an’ Uncle Stoick never really talk ‘bout…’bout my mum’s side, so who am I t’ know if what he said isn’t true?”

Ruffnut shook her head as she reached down, lifting the handle to the pot. Tuffnut grabbed the other side and the two lifted the cauldron for her. “It’s Mildew. He’s always tryin’ to incite bad reactions from people.” The three of them turned their backs to the hut, starting to walk back home.

“That way he can go and complain to Stoick,” Tuffnut finished. He offered the leg of yak to Thora, who unconsciously took a large bite from it. “But Stoick’s not here and the only person he could complain to just so happens to be your dad.”

“Yeah, so he’s probably just taking out some anger on you. Also, I’d grab another cabbage if I were you. Three silver for just two is severely overpriced…Hel, a silver for a cabbage is overpriced.” She held the bread up to Thora, letting her take a bite before offering it to Tuffnut, who also bit into it. In return, Tuffnut shared the leg with her.

Thora managed a small smile as she used her tail to grab a third sprout as they walked. “Thanks for remindin’ me. Guess I got a lil’ too worked up…”

Tuffnut shrugged. “The guy did call you a monster. If that had been me, I would have punched him in the face. With my foot.” Shuddering, he shook his head. “I don’t want to touch his nasty, old face with my hand. I mean, have you seen his beard?” He stuck his tongue out in disgust. “It looks so wiry and crusty…”

“Nah,” Thora laughed. “Maybe if Snotlout tries to act like a tough guy later, I’ll hit him instead.”

“He is perfectly shaped for it,” Ruffnut chirped. “And his head makes such a lovely hollow noise when you hit it just right…”

The three of them snickered, Mildew’s house disappearing around the bend. Soon, though, the old man let out a howl of anger, loudly cursing the twins’ existence. The twins didn’t hear it, but Thora cracked up laughing. When she told them of what she had heard, they let out a shout of victory and high-fived one another –though, they refused to tell Thora just what they had done to anger him, besides steal his lunch.

They were in the midst of having a rather pleasant conversation about the many uses of yak butter (Tuffnut’s favorite being yak butter parfait) when Astrid suddenly approached them, seething with anger. The three of them cautiously eyed the axe she clutched in her right hand.

“Thora, where is your cousin?” she demanded.

Eyes wide in surprise, Thora shrugged. “I don’t know; haven’t seen him since last night. Why?”

Astrid let out a frustrated growl and kicked the ground. “How is he so good all of a sudden?! It’s not right!”

“He must have started payin’ attention in class?” Thora suggested, offering the girl a small, reassuring smile. “An’ before you think it –no, I didn’t do any sort of magic to him.”

“Ugh!” Astrid gripped the shaft of her axe all the harder. “It’s not fair! I train my whole life to fight dragons and then he goes and gets good practically overnight! Did you know he’s Gobber and Gothi’s favorite for the class? He doesn’t even really fight! He just…just stands there and looks at the dragons and they fall over!”

“I, ah, don’t really know what t’ tell ya, Astrid.”

“Are you _positive_ he hasn’t told you anything? Even the smallest thing about some sort of training he’s doing?”

She shook her head. “No, he hasn’t,” she lied. In truth, she knew exactly how Hiccup had become so great, but she wasn’t about to let Hiccup get exiled or worse. “By the time we see each other at night, we’re both pretty much too tired t’ talk.”

“Anyway, it’s not like you’re not the only jealous one,” Ruffnut scoffed. “Tuffnut and I have been fighting since we were born and we’re not even close to being as good as you _or_ Hiccup.”

Astrid’s cheeks suddenly turned bright red. “Jealous?” she repeated. A sarcastic laugh then left her mouth. “Me? I’m not _jealous_! It’s just that Hiccup’s been…been cheating somehow! You two know how much I hate cheaters!”

Tuffnut couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “You speak the truth. I still have a scar from when you threw me down that hill after I cheated in the three-legged race when we were ten.”

Thora cocked her brow. “How d’ya cheat in something like that?”

He grinned proudly. “I used a sheep as my third leg.”

“Yeah, and I don’t regret it.” She looked up at Thora. “If you see Hiccup, tell him I want to talk with him, will you? Or at least find out _something_ about what he’s been up to.” Before Thora could answer her, she turned and walked away.

Thora looked down at the twins, who merely shrugged. “She’s really worked up over all this, isn’t she?”

“Duh,” Ruffnut retorted. “Should see her in class.”

“Yeah, it’s not very pretty,” Tuffnut agreed. He then glanced down at the cauldron he and Ruffnut still held. “So, this thing’s getting kind of heavy. Where are we taking it?”

“Actually…If the two o’ ya take these cabbages over to my house, I can take it from here,” she answered. “Thanks for bringin’ it this far for me, though. I appreciate it.”

In unison, the twins let out grunts as they set the pot down. “Well, it was either we carry the cabbages or watch you try to carry the three of those _and_ the pot,” Ruffnut told her.

A disappointed expression suddenly overtook Tuffnut’s face. “You mean we could have let her struggle and we didn’t? Ah man…I hope Loki isn’t disappointed…”

Thora chuckled. “Hey, just because he’s the prankster god doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it when his followers do good deeds,” she reassured him, patting his shoulder as he took a cabbage. Ruffnut took the other two. “I do appreciate it, though; even if the two o’ ya tackled me earlier.”

Ruffnut grinned triumphantly. “Today shall be known as the day we snuck up on Thora,” she declared. “An almost impossible feat!”

She rolled her eyes, though still wore a smile. “Yeah, yeah…”

 

* * *

 

 

Gobber let out a tired sigh as he walked home. While his lessons with the teens had gone fairly well, he had spent the rest of the day preparing obstacles for the next day’s class. For some reason, he could spend all day forging weapons or fighting dragons and not feel the least bit tired. But sawing and hammering wood all day? Now that left him exhausted.

Opening the door to the house, he found the fire glowing brightly and the air filled with the scent of cooking food. Thora sat with her back to the hearth, her tail stirring a pot of what looked to be stew while she read from her herbology book. Half his brow rose; the last couple of weeks, he had come home to find her meditating. It was strange seeing her doing something else for once.

“Evenin’, lovely,” he told her, closing the door behind him. “Hiccup back yet?”

“Hi, da’,” she replied. “Not yet.” She turned a page in the book and rested her chin on her palm.

“Your hair looks nice,” he commented, seeing the braids. Limping over to the fire, he peeked inside the pot, finding it to be mutton stew. “Who did it?” Taking the spoon from her tail, he tasted a bit of the broth before adding a pinch of ground pepper from a clay pot.

She curled her tail around her torso. “Ruff ‘n Tuff.”

He eyed her warily; she was normally more talkative than this. “Really now? Never would have thought them t’ be good with hair.” Rounding the fire, he went into the pantry and, taking his hook out, replaced it with his mug. He filled it to the brim with beer before heading back into the main room. “What made ya think o’ mutton stew for dinner?”

“Fungus.”

Gobber stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed. “…Fungus?” he slowly repeated.

“Mildew’s sheep.” She turned another page.

“Ahh,” he chuckled, sitting down in his chair. His laughter ceased, however, when he looked down at his daughter and saw that her eyes were red and her cheeks just a touch damp. “…Thora, love, are you alright?”

“Fine, da’.”

“Don’t be lyin’ to your ol’ man like that,” he gently scolded. “I can see that you were cryin’.”

She swallowed hard and tilted her head further downwards, trying to hide her face. “It’s nothin’.”

“Thora.”

“Really, da’, it’s nothin’.”

He gave her an extremely fatherly look, setting his hand on his knee and pointing his mug at her. “Thora Thunderous Gobbersdotter, you tell me the truth right now.”

She let out a heavy sigh, mentally cursing. “It’s just…just somethin’ Mildew said when I went t’ get the cabbages from him today,” she mumbled.

“An’ just what did Mildew say? Did he call ya a monster again? Ya know I gave ya permission t’ hit-”

“No,” she interrupted. “Well, aye, he did, but it wasn’t _that_ that got t’ me.” She glanced up at Gobber as she bit her tongue, seeing worry on his face. “He said…He said that magic turns trolls evil.”

Gobber frowned, anger in his eyes. “Did he now?” he asked, his tone dark.

Thora nodded. “He said magic turns their hearts black an’ minds greedy.”

“An’ why would ya believe a git like him?” He took a long, angry drink from his beer. “Ya know he likes t’ stir up trouble.”

She shrugged, looking back down at her book. “Well…t’ be fair, how am I supposed t’ know?” She didn’t bother to move her hair when one of the braids fell over her shoulder. “You an’ Uncle Stoick never talk ‘bout my mum, let alone her people. The only thing I know about the woman is that her name is Greta!” Shifting her position, she pulled her knees to her chest. Somehow, she had managed to look like a small child again.

Gobber winced; the truth of her words stung, but he knew it was his fault. Sighing, he rubbed his face and the back of his neck, glancing away from his daughter. “T’ be fair, love, I didn’t know her terribly well,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “I only met her because she an’ her people were helpin’ us in a fight against the Romans. Your mum was the leader o’ her tribe an’ I was Stoick’s second-in-command, so we met in the strategy tent.”

Thora peeked up at him again. “…She was the leader o’ her tribe?”

He nodded. “Aye, she was.” A small, reminiscent smile came to his lips. “An’ she was the only woman who managed t’ woo me.”

At that, Thora couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Only because ya prefer men.”

He shrugged, but chuckled. “Doesn’t matter; she still wooed me. An’ look what happened because o’ it.” Still smiling, he reached over and tousled her hair. “One o’ the best things t’ happen t’ me.”

Thora’s cheeks reddened. “Da’…” she mumbled.

Gobber lightly nudged her shoulder. “It’s true. An’ ya need t’ remember that. What Mildew told ya isn’t the truth. Aye, there are plenty o’ evil trolls out there who can use magic, but your mum? She was as good-hearted as you an’ me an’ she was a powerful magic user.”

She finally pushed the braid back over her shoulder. “What did she look like?”

Leaning back in his seat, he took another drink of his beer. “She was big -at least a good two heads taller ‘n me…had your hair color, though her skin was a bit darker. Her tusks were much bigger ‘n yours, as were her ears an’ tail.” He scratched his chin, doing his best to recall the woman’s appearance. “Her hair was so wild, it could make yours look straight as a sword.” He chuckled. “She was also covered in heaps o’ jewelry. Most trolls like their jewelry; I suppose that’s why you’ve taken a likin’ to piercing your ears so often.”

Thora, her chin resting on her knees watched and listened to her father, turned a bit pink at the mention of her ears. Unconsciously, she ran her finger along one of her ears, feeling the many pieces of metal and bone stuck through the cartilage. “Was she scary t’ look at?”

“Scary?” Half his brow rose, but he didn’t answer straight away. “Aye, I guess she was at first.” He saw his daughter’s face fall. “But we got used t’ her rather quick, an’ even Stoick thought she was pretty for a troll. Then again, he was also comparin’ her to his beloved Valka. I had no lady –or man- back here on Berk t’ compare her to. But, bein’ that she had three husbands, I’d say the trolls found her as beautiful as the goddesses.”

Thora’s eyes widened. “ _Three_ husbands?”

“Well, not sure if they were husbands, really, but they were quite obviously her lovers. They were none too happy that she had taken me –a tiny human compared t’ them- t’ bed with her after the battle.”

A mixture of horror and disgust came to Thora’s face. “Er…I think that’s enough for tha’ topic,” she murmured.

Gobber burst out laughing when he saw her expression and reached over, patting her atop the head. “Don’t you worry, love –those details will forever be private.” He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye before easily lifting Thora up and pulling her into a hug. “An’ don’t you dare worry ‘bout magic turnin’ you evil, you hear me? Mildew doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”

Returning the hug, a small smile came to Thora’s lips. “Thanks, da’.”

He let out a small sigh, giving her an extra squeeze. “It’s my fault, really. I _should_ have told ya ‘bout her sooner, but…” He shrugged. “I could just never think o’ how or find the right time t’ do it.” An apologetic smile came to his features.

“Well, ya got it done an’ over with now,” she chuckled. “Does knowin’ that make ya feel better?”

“Only if it helped make _you_ feel better, love.”

She nodded. “It did.” She didn’t want to admit it, but what Gobber had told her had also filled her with questions. Why did her mother send her away? Did she have any siblings? What were the Hairy Hooligans doing, fighting the Romans? She kept quiet, however, figuring it best to ask about them another time.

Turning back towards the fire, she stirred the stew and tasted the broth. “Did ya add more pepper t’ this?” she questioned, brows furrowed.

Gobber looked away innocently. “Perhaps…”

“Da’, ya know pepper gets stronger the longer it cooks,” she pouted. “Now it’ll be too strong.”

“Oh, really?”

“Aye!” She lightly thwacked his knee with her tail. “This is why I hide the pepper whenever you cook.”

His eyes widened in shock. “You’re always tellin’ me that we’re out!”

“Only because-” She paused, turning her attention to the door. “Hiccup’s here.”

Not more than half a minute later, the door opened and Hiccup poked his head in. When he saw both Gobber and Thora staring at him, he shrank back and smiled awkwardly.

“Hey there, Gobber, Thora,” he spoke, giving them a small wave. “Sorry I’m so late. I got caught up with…things. Yeah. Things.” He then spotted the stew, giving him a chance to change the subject. “Oh, is that mutton stew? I sure _love_ me some mutton stew!”

“Good, because Thora here made a lot o’ it,” Gobber chuckled. He watched as Hiccup hurried past him, ducking into the pantry. He knew the boy was hiding something, but, despite being like a second father to him, knew that Hiccup wouldn’t tell him. Thora, on the other hand -Hiccup would speak freely to her. ‘I can only hope that whatever it is he’s been up to lately isn’t something dangerous,’ he thought, finishing off his beer. ‘I just wish he knew he could talk to me…’

When Hiccup came out of the pantry with three bowls in hand, Gobber and Thora thought it best that they eat, too. Thora dished out generous portions and they took their usual spots around the small table. Before he ate, Gobber refilled his mug, as well two others, with beer and set the extra two in front of the teens. Thora snatched hers up and took a long drink while Hiccup busied himself with eating his stew. Gobber was pleased to see the boy eager to eat; lately, he had come back too tired from whatever-it-was-he-did to eat more than a few spoonfuls of dinner.

By the time Gobber had finished eating and found himself ready for bed, the teens were on their third helpings of dinner, though they had greatly slowed down in their eating. Hiccup had propped the Book of Dragons against his half-full beer while Thora held her herbology book in front of her with her tail. It was an amusing sight for him to witness; he knew the other teens on the island wouldn’t be caught dead studying, let alone while there was food in front of them.

Kissing the top of Thora’s head and tousling Hiccup’s hair, he bid the two of them goodnight and headed upstairs.

Thora waited until she heard the creak of Gobber’s bed as he got himself situated before setting her book down. “Hiccup, we’ve got t’ talk,” she quietly announced.

He looked up from his book, eyes wide in surprise as he came out of his dragon-fueled daze. “Uh…we do…?”

She nodded, moving the Book of Dragons away from him. “Everyone is thinkin’ I put some sort o’ spell on you.”

“They are? Why in Midgard would they think that?” he laughed. He shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth. “Good stew, by the way.”

Her brow rose and she gave him a dry look. “ _Apparently_ it’s because you’ve gotten so good with the dragons.”

At that, Hiccup’s cheeks flamed red and he nearly choked on a piece of mutton. “They what?” he wheezed. “Why? I’m not good with the dragons!”

She leaned back slightly on her stool. “Not only is the whole village talkin’ ‘bout you, but the twins tackled me, demanding I do the same magic to them. Oh, an’ don’t get me started on how ticked off Astrid is at ya.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t even _fight_ the dragons though! I don’t use the weapons Gobber gives us; I don’t harm them at all! I just…” He glanced away, sighing quietly. “I just use what I’ve learned from Toothless to make sure they don’t get hurt.”

Thora let out a heavy sigh. “An’ that’s why everyone is amazed at you. They think you’ve got weird powers tha’ make the dragons listen to ya an’ bends them t’ your will.”

“Well, they couldn’t be more wrong.”

“But they don’t know that. They _can’t_ know that.” She shook her head. “Just…just tone it down a bit, alright? Let Astrid tackle the dragon tomorrow or mess up somehow, alright?”

His eyes widened in horror. “But if I did that, the dragons will get hurt! I can’t let that happen!”

“I know,” she calmly told him. “I know, Hiccup. But think about it: You went from zero t’ hero in such a short amount o’ time, someone’s bound t’ get too curious. Ya need t’ tone it down just a bit –not for your sake, but for Toothless’.”

Burying his face in his hands, Hiccup rested his elbows on the table. “Oh gods…I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

“I know.” She set her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You could always try playin’ sick? Skip a few classes?”

He shook his head. “You know how bad I am at acting.” He then peeked at her from between his fingers. “Unless you could…”

“I could…what?”

A grin came to his face. “You could make a potion that’ll make me sick!”

Groaning, Thora rolled her eyes and let her head fall onto the table with a ‘thud’.

Hiccup cringed. “I…take it people have been asking you to do that a lot?”

Turning her head, she stared at her demi-cousin with mild irritation. “No. Just people thinkin’ that I can suddenly do all sorts o’ magic an’ make all sorts o’ potions after less than a month o’ being under Gothi’s tutelage.”

He smiled innocently. “Er…Maybe they think quick-learning runs in the family?” he jokingly suggested. He chuckled when she gave him a small nudge.

“Yeah, if only,” she replied, a bit of a smile on her lips. “I don’t have a way to cheat like you do.”

“Cheat? Me? No, never!” A cheeky grin appeared on his lips. “I’ve just had an excellent tutor is all! Maybe that’s all you need?”

She let out a sarcastic laugh. “And where can I find a tutor who teaches better than Gothi?” Getting up, she took her empty bowl into the pantry, Hiccup following behind her. “I mean, it’s not like I _can’t_ do magic just yet…it’s just not the magic people want.”

Hiccup tilted his head as he took her bowl from her hands, moving to wash it. “So, you haven’t tried since the moss incident?”

“Oh, no –I’ve been practicin’…an’ today I made my first potion. But like…I can’t turn people into animals or magically make wounds disappear.” Leaning against the counter, she picked up a dried sunflower from one of the shelves. She hesitated for a moment, thinking back to Mildew’s words from earlier. Shaking her head, she shoved them from her mind.

Hiccup watched as she closed her eyes, though nothing happened at first. He didn’t notice Thora’s brows crease in concentration or the bit of sweat forming on her forehead. Instead, his mouth fell slack when life started to return to the dried flower. While the stem remained withered and dull, the bright yellow hue returned to petals and they became fuller. Slowly, the stem began to regain vitality as well, though before it could fully return to its living state, Thora’s knees gave out.

Darting forward, Hiccup did his best to catch her; their size difference made it a bit of a challenge. Despite that, he managed to help ease her down onto the floor, where she leaned back against the wall.

“Are you alright?” he questioned, brows knitted together in worry.

“Sunflower’s a bit harder t’ do than lavender,” she panted, a triumphant grin on her lips. “Other than that –aye, I’m fine. Just need t’ rest a little bit.”

Taking the flower from her, Hiccup looked it over. While most of the stem was still very much dead, the bud was entirely alive, leaving him rather surprised by his demi-cousin’s accomplishment.

“Thora, do you know how amazing this is?” he questioned. “You just brought a dead plant _back to life_!”

She shook her head. “Only half o’ it, but the flower is the part that matters.”

He gave her a look. “Way to undersell yourself there, Thora.”

Shrugging, she started to push herself onto her feet. She wobbled for a moment, but kept her balance. “It may look amazin’ t’ you,” she replied, “but thanks t’ Gothi’s constant harping, I know I could do better.” She shoved one of the braids over her shoulder. “Kind o’ like how Astrid is always sayin’ she could do better, even though t’ us, she fought like an einherjar at Ragnarök. Or how you say you’re not good with dragons, an’ yet…” She flashed him a playful smirk, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Alright, I get it.” Standing as well, he eyed her cautiously; she still didn’t seem entirely stable on her feet. “We should probably get you to bed. I can tell doing that magic took a lot out of you.”

Knowing she couldn’t lie to him, she nodded. “Aye, it did…so aye, I should probably get t’ bed.” She blew a stray lock of hair from her face. “But first, you’re goin’ t’ tell me how the modifications ya made t’ Toothless’ tail turned out.”

For a moment, Hiccup gawked at her. “The…modifications?”

She cocked her brow. “Aye? Ya told me a few nights ago that you thought ya came up with a way t’ change his tail positions. Don’t ya remember?”

“Oh! Those! Yeah, those actually turned out great. It works well with the saddle, too, since it helps hold the wires in place.”

“Have ya come up with a way for him t’ fly _without_ a rider yet?”

At that, his cheeks turned red and he glanced away. “Er…Not… _exactly_.”

She gave him a look. “Ya know he’s goin’ t’ need a way t’ fly without you, right? It’s too dangerous otherwise. What if he gets attacked by another dragon when you’re not around?”

Hiccup’s gaze turned towards the floor and he slouched forward. “Yeah, you’re right…” he mumbled. He was forced to look up as Thora used her tail to lift his chin.

“I know ya don’t want t’ let him loose,” she quietly told him, “but he’s a _dragon_. They’re wild creatures, not wee puppies who ya can train.”

“If you would just come and see him, you’d see otherwise.”

She shook her head. “We’ve been over this, Hiccup. It’s too risky if I came with ya. Not t’ mention, I’m damned sure that dragon has never seen a troll before. We don’t need him attackin’ me just because I’ve got the same size teeth as him.”

He pouted. “Only _two_ of your teeth are the same size as his,” he corrected. “And he wouldn’t hurt you! Not if I was there to introduce you.”

Again, she shook her head, this time crossing her arms. “I’m sorry Hiccup, but no. I love ya dearly, but I’m not goin’ t’ meet your dragon. Not _yet_ anyway. Maybe when the hype ‘bout the Dragon Master dies does a bit I’ll go with ya, but not before then.”

Hiccup sighed, rolling his eyes. “You know, sometimes I hate how sensible you are,” he grumbled, knowing that she would understand he was joking.

“Well, that just means I’d be a good Wise Woman for ya,” she smirked. “Just be lucky I don’t have a staff like Gothi or else I’d be hittin’ ya upside the head.”

“You already do that your tail!”

“Would ya rather I hit ya with a staff, then? I mean, I know where I can get a few…”

He cringed. “I think I’d rather the tail, thank you.” Then, his demeanor suddenly changed and he pointed a scolding finger up at Thora. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to bed, young lady?” he questioned, his tone amusingly authoritative. When she made to argue, he spun her around and, with some effort, started to push her towards the main room. “It’s no use arguing, you’re going to bed!”

Thora cracked up. “An’ just what makes ya think I’m ready for bed?” she retorted, digging her heels into the floor. She heard Hiccup grunt as he found himself unable to push her further.

“You just nearly fainted when doing magic, that’s what!”

Still grinning, she let her body go limp, forcing Hiccup to bear the brunt of her weight. “But I’m feelin’ better. Can’t ya tell?” Her head flopped back against his shoulder as she looked at him.

He grunted, though also wore a smile. “Oh come on; this isn’t fair!” he laughed.

“What’s not fair?” She innocently batted her eyes at him as she sunk further towards the ground, bringing Hiccup with her. “I haven’t the slightest idea o’ what ya mean, dear Hiccup.”

Raising his brow, Hiccup braced himself. A shocked curse flew from Thora’s mouth as he suddenly lifted her up off the floor, draping her over his shoulder. She was so taken aback by his display of strength that she didn’t even protest when he carried her to her hammock and dumped her in it.

“There!” he breathed, wiping his hands together. “Now you’re in bed!” He wore a proud grin –and rightly so.

“When in the history o’ Midgard did ya get that strong?!” she gaped, staring at him. He was upside down to her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You just lifted _me_ over your shoulder like I was a sack o’ cabbages!”

Rotating his arm around until it popped, Hiccup half-shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all the good food you’ve been feeding me.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Your da’ feeds ya plenty an’ you couldn’t lift me then.”

“I said ‘ _good’_ ’ food. My dad boils leather and calls it soup.”

Thora rolled over, adjusting herself so that she was lying on her stomach within the hammock. “Uncle Stoick can’t be _that_ bad o’ a cook.” She watched as Hiccup scattered the logs of the fire, sending minute embers flying upwards. “You’ve lived this long on his cookin’, after all.”

He let out a sarcastic laugh. “Remember that time the two of us got dragon pox and had to be quarantined together?”

“Aye?”

“And my dad made us some soup that you said tasted like rotten yak’s milk and he said it only tasted that way because you were sick?”

“…Aye?”

“Well, it didn’t taste like that just because you were sick. He made it again a few months later and it tasted _worse_.”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust. “Oh, yuck…if I had known that, I would have dragged ya down here t’ eat. My da’ may not be the best cook in the world, but at least his food is edible…Most o’ the time.”

Hiccup quietly laughed as he crawled into his own hammock. “That is true…Maybe I’ll just stay here when my dad gets back. It’ll spare me from his bad moods, at least.”

Her brow rose as her tail grabbed her blanket, drawing it over herself. “He’s not _always_ in a bad mood.”

“Thora, you’ve known my dad just as long as I have. When he’s not in a ‘bad’ mood, he’s in a ‘terrible’ mood. Which I’m sure he’ll be in when he gets back from trying to find the Dragon’s Nest…” He sighed, putting his hands behind his head. Thora quietly giggled, making his brow rise as he glanced at her. “What’s so funny?”

“Just a thought,” she replied, trying to stifle her laughter. “When the warriors come back, greet your da’ at the docks with me flung over your shoulder.”

He snorted. “What? Why?”

“It’ll show him you’re not a talkin’ fishbone anymore!”

“Oh, thanks!” he laughed, throwing his pillow at her.

Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, she tossed his pillow back to him. “But in all seriousness, Hiccup: I’m sure Uncle Stoick will just be thankful t’ be back home on Berk with his son.”

“I can only hope,” he replied, a half-hearted smile on his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

When dawn came, Berk was nothing more than a tiny speck on the horizon, barely visible to the Viking warriors as they sailed home. Of course, all but one of the warriors were fast asleep, their bodies worn and aching after their disastrous attempt at finding the dragon’s nest. Three ships had set out, but only one was returning. Luckily, no one had been killed at Helheim’s Gate, but the onslaught they had survived left them wary of further attempts to find the dragon nest.

Stoick stood at the back of the ship, his hand on the rudder. He tiredly rubbed his face, allowing himself to lean against the wooden wall. He felt horrible that he had led his people into a fruitless fight, but knowing that they would return home without victory was even more frustrating to him. As such, he had stood vigilantly at the helm, letting his people rest while he continued to work.

After two weeks of sailing in unfavorable conditions, however, even _he_ was beginning to feel tired. As the rising sun broke over the horizon, he looped a rope around the rudder and slid down to the deck. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, seeking just a bit of rest until the crew woke up. Stoick didn’t allow himself to sleep just yet, though; instead, he rested his mind by thinking of how life on Berk was going on without them.

‘Gobber’s bound to have the recruits well-trained by now,’ he thought. ‘Maybe he’s even managed to straighten Hiccup out…?’ He chuckled at the thought. ‘What am I thinking? The lad’s going to be just the same as he ever was: Constantly getting into trouble with his inventions and strange ideas.’

Shifting his position so he sat cross-legged, he let out a heavy sigh. ‘I can only hope he hasn’t been too much of a pain since I’ve been gone. And Thora! I pray she’s doing well; Berk needs more healers. We’ve far too many warriors for a meager three healers; a fourth would help. And with how her mum was in battle, I’d much rather she took the peaceful route in life…Aye, she was a fierce ally, but her ruthlessness towards enemies…’

Before he realized it, sleep overtook him. When the first Vikings started to wake up and saw him, they thought it best to let their chieftain sleep; he had gotten so little of it lately. It was only when they were less than half an hour from the shores of Berk that they finally woke him. Stoick was more than a little surprised to find the island looming in the distance, but he smiled nonetheless.

By the time the ship was docked, a few Vikings had come down from the village to greet them. Stoick could see the worry in their faces when they saw how badly damaged the ship was, but as the warriors began to disembark from the ship, he could see relief as well. As he stepped foot on the dock, he saw Gobber walking towards him, a thankful look on the blacksmith’s face.

“Well, I trust you found the nest at least?” he questioned as Stoick approached him.

At that, the chieftain’s face darkened. “Not even close,” he grumbled.

Sighing, Gobber shrugged. “Ah, Excellent.”

Stoick glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “I hope you had a little more success than me…”

Gobber coyly looked away, using his hook to scratch his neck. “Well…if by success, you mean tha’ your parentin’ troubles are over with…then, yes.” He blinked, taken aback as a Viking rushed towards them.

“Congratulations, Stoick!” she cried, eyes wide with excitement. “Everyone is _so_ relieved!”

Another village joined in. “Out with the old an’ in with the new, right?” he chirped.

Yet another added, “No one will miss that ol’ nuisance!”

As the confusing congratulatory remarks continued to come, Stoick slowly turned towards Gobber, his face pale with worry. “He’s…gone?” he whispered.

Shrugging once more, Gobber lightly took Stoick’s shoulder and began to lead him away from the docks. “Aye…most afternoons.” Glancing over his shoulder, he quietly chuckled as the villagers informed their families of the sudden change in Hiccup. “But who can blame him? I mean, the life o’ a celebrity’s _very_ rough. He can barely walk through the village without bein’ swarmed by his new fans!”

Stoick stopped, gawking at the smith. “ _Hiccup?_ ”

“Who would’ve thought, eh?” He grinned proudly. “He has this ‘way’ with the beasts!”

Still thoroughly in shock, Stoick shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t mean the same boy.”

“What other Hiccup does Berk have? _O’ course_ I mean the same lad!” Reaching the top of the docks, he started to guide Stoick towards his home where they could get a drink and catch up. “You should really see him, Stoick –he doesn’t even need a weapon t’ bring down a dragon.”

Taking off his helmet, the chieftain rubbed the top of his head. “Great Odin’s Ghost…” he murmured. “I can’t say I was expectin’ this, to be honest.”

“None o’ us were,” Gobber told him. “The first few classes, I was havin’ t’ pull him out o’ Death’s way at least once! I was sure you were goin’ t’ come back to a dead son.” He shook his head, chuckling. “But now he’s bringin’ dragons down left, right, an’ center! Just t’day, he sent a Terrible Terror scurryin’ back into its hole with naught but a shield!”

Stoick cocked his brow. “…A Terrible Terror?”

Gobber shrugged, knowing it didn’t sound very impressive –after all, Terrible Terrors were some of the smaller dragons. “Not the biggest o’ dragons, I know, but I promise you he’s fought bigger.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. “How did he get so good?”

“No one really knows,” he admitted. “He hasn’t even told Thora what he’s been up to! But my guess is that he’s been off doin’ extra trainin’. I mean, he has t’ be; there’s no other explanation.”

Stoick let out a sigh. “So long as he hasn’t gotten himself killed. That’s all that matters.”

“Oh, you can’t tell me that you’re not glad he’s finally found his warrior spirit,” Gobber scoffed. “You’ve been prayin’ for this day t’ come ever since he was born.”

If it hadn’t been for his beard, Stoick’s embarrassment would have been all-too easy to see. Thankfully, however, his beard hid his blush. “I’ll have ya know, Gobber-”

“UNCLE STOICK!”

The breath was almost knocked out of him and he stumbled backwards a few feet as a blur of brownish-grey suddenly latched onto him. When he realized who it was clinging to him, he let out a small laugh –especially when he noticed how fast her tail was wagging.

“Thora, lass, you nearly toppled me!” he chuckled, patting her on the back.

Releasing her demi-uncle, Thora stepped back, grinning. “I’m glad you’re back, Uncle! Da’ an’ I were startin’ t’ get worried ‘bout ya, especially when the third week passed by.”

Gobber cocked his brow and put his hands on his hips. “Aren’t you supposed t’ be at your lessons, young lady?”

Her cheeks a reddening a bit, she gave him an innocent smile. “Er…Well…” Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Gothi shaking her head as she walked towards them. “I _was_ at my lessons, but then we got news o’ Uncle Stoick’s return, so we thought it best t’ come check up on things. Ya know, t’ see if any injuries needed tendin’ to an’ the like.” She stepped aside as Gothi approached.

The two men respectfully bowed their heads to the elder. ‘Good to see you safe,’ she wrote in the dirt. ‘Your ship, however, looks worse for wear. How were you able to keep it in one piece all the way here?’

He let out a sigh. “Blessings from the gods, that’s how. Things…did not go well.”

‘I had a feeling they wouldn’t,’ Gothi admitted. ‘But I am glad to see that our chief has returned safe and unharmed.’ She then offered Stoick a smile. ‘I suppose Gobber has told you of Hiccup?’

“He has, though I can hardly believe it,” he chuckled. “I can’t wait to see him in action. Perhaps I’ll watch the class tomorrow.”

“You’ll have t’ arrive early,” Gobber warned him. “Practically the whole village shows up t’ watch now. There’s hardly a spot left open.”

‘He speaks the truth,’ Gothi wrote. ‘Hiccup puts on quite a show. I knew he had the potential, but I would have never foreseen the amount!’

Thora bit her tongue as the three adults conversed, her tail lowering slightly. ‘Oh, gods…Hiccup, you better have something up your sleeve,’ she worriedly thought, staring at the ground. ‘With Uncle Stoick being back, I’m not sure we can keep your secret much longer.’

“Thora?” Stoick suddenly asked, snapping his fingers before her face.

Her eyes widened as she snapped out of it. “Hm? Sorry, what was that, Uncle?”

“How are you enjoyin’ your lessons?” he questioned again, a brow ever so slightly raised.

“Oh, they’re rather fun,” she replied. “Hard, but fun. Gothi’s already got me brewin’ potions.”

He looked down at the Völva, an amused grin on his lips. “Is that so? I would have thought you’d be teachin’ her the basics first!”

Gothi’s brow rose slightly before she wrote in the dirt. ‘These are the basics. As time passes, I’ll teach her more complex potions and spells. For now, though, she is learning simple healing mixtures.’ She dismissively waved her hand.

Thora’s cheeks reddened, though she said nothing. ‘She calls them simple,’ she thought. ‘Bet she didn’t think so when she was learning how to make them…’

‘However,’ continued the elder, ‘she is showing a lot of promise.’ She then looked up, her gaze meeting Thora’s. She didn’t need to write anything for the teen to understand her; she wanted Thora to show Stoick a bit of what she could do.

Biting her tongue again, she reached into her satchel. As she searched within it, Gobber and Stoick exchanged confused looks. “I’m not very good at it yet,” she spoke, finally pulling out some dried lavender and chamomile, “but Gothi says it’s a skill she definitely wants me t’ master due t’ its usefulness.” She held the flowers on her palm so that her father and uncle could see.

Stoick’s brow rose in skepticism as he slightly leaned forward. He was about to point out how drying flowers was a rather easy skill to master when he suddenly let out a curse of surprise; the flowers had come back to life before his eyes.

“Thor’s Hammer!” he cried. “How in Midgard-?!”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Gobber smiled, his chest puffed out in pride. “It’s because o’ her troll blood! It lets her do things that we humans can’t.” Reaching over, he ruffled Thora’s hair, though he frowned as she wobbled slightly. “Though, it does seem to take a bit o’ a toll on her…”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, placing her feet a bit farther apart to steady herself. She tucked the now-living plants back in her bag, being careful to not squish them.

There was concern in Stoick’s eyes as he looked her over. “Are you sure, Thora? If doin’ this sort o’ magic is too taxing on you,” he glanced at Gothi from the corner of his eye, “perhaps ya should hold off on it for a while? Learn more of the basics first?”

Gothi rolled her eyes before scribbling, ‘She must begin practicing right away so that she can build up her strength and endurance.’ Shaking her head, she turned towards Thora. ‘Don’t pay them any heed, child. They’re men –they know nothing of magic.’

Thora’s cheeks flared red when Gothi added an extra sentence –one not entirely composed of appropriate words. “Gothi…that’s my da’ an’ my uncle you’re cursin’ there,” she murmured, eyes wide.

Gobber leaned over, trying to red what the old woman had written, but Thora had already brushed it away with her tail. Stoick merely sighed; he knew the old woman had a foul vocabulary at times.

Lightly patting Thora’s shoulder, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Regardless, I see that you’re doin’ well,” he told her. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine Völva for Hiccup when he’s chief.”

Her cheeks remaining red, Thora looked away from the chief. “Er…I don’t know ‘bout that…” she mumbled.

Gothi promptly thwacked her upside the head with her staff before shaking it in a scolding fashion.

“Ow! I know, I know –I’m tryin’ t’ work on it!” Thora yelped, her tail snatching the staff as Gothi made to hit her again. “It’s harder than ya think!”

Gobber let out a sigh. “They’re tryin’ t’ work on Thora’s self-confidence issues,” he quietly explained to Stoick. Setting his hook on his shoulder, he started to lead him away from the two females. “Apparently, confidence is one o’ the keys t’ Thora bein’ able t’ do magic easier.”

A frown came to Stoick’s face. “She’s not confident in herself? That’s ridiculous! She has all the reasons in the world to be confident. She’s a Hairy Hooligan, after all.”

“Try tellin’ her that when she’s been picked on her whole life.” Gobber scratched his chin. “Most o’ it has stopped since she had her growth spurt, though. Sad t’ say, though, it’s all gone towards Hiccup…”

“Not anymore, it seems. People have done nothing but praise him since I’ve been here.”

“And with good reason, as you’ll see tomorrow morning,” he smirked. “It’ll bring a tear t’ your eye, seein’ how good he is! He’ll have ya burstin’ with pride.”

Stoick smiled. “I’m sure he will.”

“Now, how ‘bout some ale t’ celebrate your safe return?” Gobber joked. “Or perhaps some mead in celebration o’ your prodigal son?”

He let out a loud, hearty laugh. “How ‘bout a mug o’ each?” he suggested. “With a side o’ salted pork, to make the liquor go down quicker?”

“Aye, that’s the spirit!” Gobber thumped him on the back. “I knew I became your friend for a reason!”

   
  


Soon enough, they had reached Gobber’s hut and each had a mug of good, strong ale in hand as they sat at the table. They were surprisingly quiet as they filled their stomachs with reheated stew and day-old bread, though it was understandable: Stoick hadn’t had a properly filling meal for some weeks and Gobber wasn’t about to divert a hungry man’s attention away from his food.

When the chieftain was working his way through a third bowl of stew and a second mug of ale, Gobber finally broke the silence.

“Not t’ bring the mood down or anything,” he started, “but did ya make any progress at Helheim’s Gate? Maybe a new entrance or a little further into the fog…?”

Dragging a piece of the crusty bread through his soup, Stoick shook his head with a sigh. “None from what I could tell.” He popped the bread in his mouth, chewing slowly. “Somehow, it seems that the dragons know we’re comin’, no matter where we enter from. But they always wait until all the ships are about a quarter mile in.”

“No one ever said dragons were dumb creatures,” Gobber replied before taking a bite of his stew. “After all, that’s why Bork make the Book o’ Dragons: T’ make sure other Vikings knew just how tricky they could be. An’ t’, y’know, keep track of all the different kinds o’ dragons there are.”

Stoick nodded. “True,” he agreed, “but it seems almost abnormal how they _always_ know.”

Gobber shrugged. “Maybe they’ve got a sort o’ patrol? Or maybe some o’ the dragons simply nest close t’ fog’s edge. Only the gods know.” He took a long drink from his ale.

“Don’t suppose Thora knows any sort o’ divination yet?” Stoick asked with a small laugh. “I could never get an answer from Gothi, but maybe she’d be able t’ tell me something.”

“Ha! No, I’m afraid not.” He tore a bit of bread from the loaf. “She will someday, though. Try askin’ her in a few years.”

He waved his hand. “By then, Hiccup will be chief an’ he’ll be the one tryin’ t’ find the nest.” Finishing his ale, he wiped his mouth on his arm. “I can only hope the two o’ them will be more successful than us.”

“Well, they can’t do t’ much worse than us. Gods help us if they continue gettin’ into trouble, though,” Gobber snickered. “You know how those two can get.”

He nodded again, chortling. “That is true…though as they’ve gotten older, trouble seems t’ find them less an’ less –thank the gods.” Letting out a sigh, Stoick leaned back in his stool and glanced towards the ceiling, a reminiscing smile on his lips. “It still seems like yesterday we were havin’ t’ pull Thora off o’ Snotlout an’ have Gothi tend t’ Hiccup’s bloodied nose…” Shaking his head, he let out a sigh before drinking from his mug. “They were nigh inseparable back then, weren’t they?”

“Oh, aye they were! An’ weren’t they just the tiniest lil’ things Berk has ever seen?” Gobber grinned. “Well…Hiccup’s still a bit small, but at least he’s bigger now. No more hidin’ behind your legs!”

“O’ course, that’s where he tried to hide whenever he knew he was about to be in trouble,” Stoick laughed. “Sometimes, it’d even work, too! I wouldn’t find the lad for hours all because he was followin’ behind me.” He shook his head, grinning as he set his mug back on the table. “Got t’ hand it to him, though –he did quite a good job stayin’ hidden back there.”

Still snickering, Gobber leaned back on his stool. “At least they grew out o’ it, eh? Otherwise, I’d still be havin’ t’ pry Thora off o’ the other teens all because they were dumb enough t’ make fun o’ Hiccup when she was within earshot…”

“Thank the Æsir an’ Vanir that’s no longer the case, eh?” A somewhat wistful look came to his features as he looked towards the fire, though his gaze seemed to go past it. “Now they’re growin’ up an’ becomin’ not just Vikings, but independent people.” He glanced at Gobber and let out a small, half-hearted laugh. “Just think, Gobber: Soon, they’ll be movin’ out an’ makin’ their own houses an’ courtin’ other villagers. Before ya know it, we’ll be grandfathers!”

Gobber stared into his now-empty mug. “Well, one o’ us will be a grandfather,” he commented, a slight frown appearing under his mustache. “If Thora continues with her trainin’, I won’t be expectin’ any grandbabies –what with her becomin’ a Völva an’ all.” He sniffed, feeling a tear trying to slip from his eyes. He was able to hold it back, though.

He reached over, comfortingly patting his friend’s shoulder. “She has a number o’ years left in her before she can acquire the title o’ Völva, so there’s a chance yet.”

Gobber glanced up at him. “Ya think so?”

Stoick would never admit it to anyone –least of all Gobber - but he highly doubted that someone from Berk would take Thora as their wife. She had inherited just a bit too much of Greta’s appearance to make a human consider her wife material. “O’ course I think so,” he expertly lied. “What Viking wouldn’t take her for his bride, eh? Not only is she goin’ t’ be a skilled healer an’ magic user, but she’s a Hel o’ a fighter!”

A small smile came to his friend’s lips. “Aye, she is,” he agreed. “An’ you’re right –any Viking worth his salt would be lucky t’ have her!”

Thumping him on the back, Stoick grinned. “That’s the attitude t’ have,” he chortled. “I’m sure in a few years, you’ll be havin’ all sorts o’ suitors linin’ up at your door askin’ t’ court her.”

Gobber raised his brow and pointed his spoon at Stoick. “Meanwhile, you’ll be havin’ t’ keep all the womenfolk away from Hiccup,” he told him. “I’ve already been hearin’ rumors ‘bout Nanna Larson thinkin’ ‘bout askin’ Hiccup t’ be her partner for Hökunótt.”

Stoick’s brow rose. “Is that so?” he grinned. “Well, then either Hiccup needs t’ take his mind off o’ Astrid Hofferson or she needs t’ get her head in the game.”

Snorting, Gobber lightly shook his head. “Oh, Astrid’s far too upset with Hiccup right now t’ have even the slightest o’ inclinations t’ court him. You should see how angry she gets when she doesn’t get even one hit on the dragon because he’s already disabled it!”

“Is that so? Well, that’s a shame. I know Hiccup’s had his eye on her for quite some time.” Taking the last bit of bread before Gobber could, he used it to clean any remnants of stew from his empty bowl. “But, Nanna would be a good match for him, too. She’s gentle, like him. An’ from what I’ve heard, she’s quite clever as well.”

“Clever is good,” Gobber agreed. He then narrowed his eyes and pointed his spoon at Stoick once again. “So long as they’re not _too_ clever. Then ya risk them becomin’ troublesome –like those Thorston twins.”

He nodded in agreement. “That is true. Ruffnut and Tuffnut are rather…cunning, though I’m saddened they much rather put their minds t’ use by pullin’ all those pranks.” He let out a sigh and shook his head. “They could have put their minds t’ great use, but sometimes the path o’ Loki is just too appealing.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t have gone down it if their da’ hadn’t been mauled,” Gobber suggested. “I mean, you an’ I know the challenges o’ bein’ single parents all too well –imagine havin’ t’ raise two children while also takin’ care o’ an injured loved one –all on your own! We barely survived our own children; I don’t know how Ylva managed it.” He shook his head. “If she just had a bit more help, I’m sure the twins would have ended up more like her an’ Bjorn.”

Stoick cocked his brow. “I don’t know. Those two have always been a handful, even when Bjorn was still around. Then again, they _were_ children, so o’ course they were a handful,” he chuckled. “Just like Hiccup and Thora were for us.”

Gobber couldn’t help but nod. “True…but at least you lot had both hands t’ take care o’ them with.” He held up his amputated arm before unlocking and detaching the spoon, setting it down on the table. “I’m missin’ a limb while she’s got an extra one! I tell ya, be thankful Hiccup doesn’t have a tail. Nothin’ is harder than havin’ t’ climb into the rafters o’ your own home just t’ grab your four-year-old daughter who’s gaily swingin’ by her tail, not carin’ how close t’ death she is.”

Stoick crossed his arms over his chest, giving Gobber an amused look. “If I remember correctly, Gobber, it was _me_ ya sent up in the rafters because ya didn’t want the ladder slidin’ out from under you.”

He frowned, a thoughtful look coming to his face. “Was it you?” He tapped his chin, trying to remember the scene, though it was rather hazy thanks to the alcohol coursing its way through his blood. “Huh. Suppose it was.” Looking down at his empty tankard, he gave it a small glare. “Guess the ale’s a wee bit stronger than I thought it was.”

His brow still raised, Stoick laughed. “Must be. Do ya need a refill?” Standing, he grabbed his bowl and his own tankard. “I know I do.”

Gobber pushed his mug towards him. “Oh, I guess,” he grinned, leaning back. “It can’t hurt.”

“Well, if ya drink much more, it’ll hurt when you get sober,” Stoick joked as he headed to the pantry.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, it’ll take a lot more than three mugs o’ ale t’ make me wake up with a hangover.”

“Well, it’s only early afternoon. We have all day to drink.”

Gobber frowned, half his brow rising. “Huh. Well, looks I’ll be hurtin’ in the mornin’ then.”

 

* * *

 

 

A cool, northern breeze was wafting through the village, bringing with it the scent of the forest. Below, the ocean waves crashed against the cliffs, sending a briny spray up into the air. Somewhere far above, a flock of gulls flew by, their squawks echoing throughout the skies.

Thora let out a peaceful sigh as she sat on the porch of Gothi’s hut. With her eyes shut, she leaned back against the wall, letting her breathing deepen as she practiced her meditation. Soon, she could feel the familiar coolness filling her fingers and trailing up her arm and her body grew limp with calm. Around her, she began to feel the energies of the earth and-

Enormous roars of excitement suddenly erupted from the Kill Ring, making her jump in surprise and lose all concentration.

‘I guess something good happened,’ she thought with a frown. Standing up, she walked to the very edge of the porch and tilted her head, trying to catch any snippets. She was too far away, however, and sighed. ‘Guess I’ll just have to wait for Gothi to tell me…’ Very carefully, she leaned over and peered down at the village below. ‘If I climb down instead of using the stairs, I could meet her halfway and find out sooner.’

But then she remembered the last time she had climbed down the side of the rock stack and the intense scolding she had received not only from Gothi, but from Gobber as well, about how they were to _never_ catch her doing it again. As good of a climber as she was, they said, it was far too dangerous and they didn’t want her to fall to her death. She could go into the forest if she wanted to climb things.

With a mischievous smirk and a small shrug, she swung herself over the edge of the porch. ‘They’re all at the arena anyway,’ she thought. ‘They’ll never know.’

As she descended the rock wall, she made sure to continually look towards the arena; just in case class ended early, she didn’t want to be caught. Luck was on her side and class remained in session.

‘Not sure why they’re afraid of me falling,’ she pondered, letting herself slide down an angled bit of cliff. She came to a halt as the ground flattened out –the first of the landings. ‘There are more places to grab on here than there are on a tree. And it’s easier to hold onto, because there’s no bark that can peel away or moss that can make you slip…’

Sliding over the second ledge, she found her climb getting a bit more difficult, as part of the rock curved inwards. As such, she was forced to alter her path, climbing down at an angle rather than a straight line.

‘Alright, no longer as easy, but still fun,’ she thought with a chuckle.

By the time she was three-quarters of the way down, another cheer had echoed over from the Kill Ring. Thora knew something interesting was happening and almost regretted her choice to stay away from the place –that is, until she remembered how loud it would be. Cringing at the thought, she found herself reaching the final landing. From here, the distance was the same whether she used the ladders or climbed, so she decided it best to take the ladders.

It was a good thing she did, because when she reached the bottom, she could see someone running towards her from the arena. Covering her eyes against the morning sun, she squinted only to find Hiccup running towards her. As he came nearer, she could see a look of pure panic on his face. She felt her stomach drop.

“Thora!” he panted, grabbing her arms. “Oh gods, Thora –you’ve got to help me!”

“What happened?” she demanded. “What’s wrong? Are ya hurt?” As he struggled to breathe, she held him upright, doing her best to see if he had any injuries. “I heard nothin’ but cheers from the arena. I didn’t think somethin’ bad happened!”

With his eyes clenched shut, he shook his head. “Good for everyone _but_ me,” he told her. “Gothi selected me – _me!_ \- to kill the dragon tomorrow.” He looked up at her, biting his lower lip. “Thora, you _know_ I can’t kill a dragon, even if it’s a Monstrous Nightmare!”

Thora, however, was left silent by the shock.

“You’ve got to help me,” he continued. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t just…not kill that dragon tomorrow.” He stepped away from her and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Dad will kill me! Gobber will kill me! The _whole village_ would kill me for letting that dragon live!”

Biting her tongue, Thora worriedly watched as her cousin began to pace in front of her. “I know,” she finally spoke, “but we both know why Gothi picked ya, Hiccup.”

He glanced at her. “Not because I’m good at fighting dragons.”

She shook her head. “No, but because ya need no weapons t’ bring them down.” Letting out a quiet groan, she unconsciously grabbed the hem of her apron and began wringing it. “Alright, so…tomorrow ya fight the dragon.”

“Yes.”

“But ya _can’t_ kill the dragon…” She wracked her brain, trying to think of something that would be useful to her cousin’s plight. “We could…We could set the Monstrous Nightmare free! Aye –one o’ us can sneak into the ring tonight when everyone’s asleep an’ let the dragon free.”

At that, Hiccup gave her a somewhat dry look. “Thora…They would just have me kill a different dragon. Anyway, how are we supposed to cover up a dragon escape?”

She sighed, knowing he was right. “T’ be fair, they are _fire-breathin’_ lizards locked up in stone pens with _wooden_ doors…” she murmured.

“Gobber lined the inside of the doors with metal,” he gently reminded her.

Waving her hand dismissively, she frowned. “That’s beside the point.” She still held her tongue between her teeth as she did her best to think harder.

“We can’t free the dragon…” Hiccup murmured, more to himself than to Thora. “Which means I _will_ have to face it tomorrow. How can I do that? Especially with my dad there…?”

Thora’s eyes suddenly widened as a thought occurred to her, but she remained silent out of fear. Hiccup, however, recognized this look on his demi-cousin’s face. He had seen it many times throughout their lives –mainly when she had come up with a way for them to avoid punishments.

“What? What did you come up with?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s too…too risky.”

He clasped her shoulders, though he almost had to stand on his tiptoes to do so. “Thora,” he quietly urged, “I don’t care how dangerous it is. If it keeps that dragon alive, I’ll do it.”

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet his gaze. Past the fear and the panic, she could see that he was filled with a fierce determination that she knew she would be unable to quench. A sigh left her mouth as she finally glanced away.

“Hiccup…you an’ Toothless would have t’ leave Berk,” she quietly told him. “I’m not sure if it’d entirely spare the dragon, but it’d mean that you wouldn’t be the one havin’ t’ kill it.”

Hiccup stared at her for a long moment, his mouth slightly agape. When Thora was sure he was about to reject the idea, he took her by surprise. “You’re right.”

She slumped forward. “I was hoping you’d disagree,” she admitted. “But…It’s the safest bet. Toothless is the only way for ya t’ get off the island unseen an’ he can get ya far, far away before any ships are sent out t’ look for ya…”

He nodded in agreement. “Then I’ll leave today,” he told her with a sigh. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stepped back, finding himself also unable to look at her. “I just need to grab a few things and then Toothless and I can get out of here. I’m not sure for how long, though…”

“A few weeks? I don’t know, either. Gothi hasn’t taught me how t’ help my cousin run away.” She managed to force a small smile.

Hiccup let out a small laugh. “I don’t think that’s anything that _anyone_ teaches, to be honest,” he told her. “Though…Promise me one thing, Thora.” She made no reply, but cocked her brow. “If anyone asks, you know nothing. _Absolutely nothing_. I don’t want you getting caught up in all this, alright?”

She frowned. “Hiccup-”

“No! No arguments.” He gave her a stern look. “This is my problem, not yours. I won’t have you getting in trouble because of the stupid things I did.” Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the crowd beginning to disperse from the Kill Ring. “Promise me, Thora.”

“…I promise,” she quietly told him. “But if I find out ya went and got yourself hurt or something, I swear t’ Odin, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, I will come after ya an’ make ya regret leaving.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her. “I know,” he chuckled. Pulling her down, he kissed her forehead. “You stay safe, too. Dad won’t be happy about this, so do your best to avoid his wrath once it surfaces.”

Thora, unable to talk lest she start crying, could only nod.

Peeking over his shoulder again, he sighed. “Alright. I gotta go. Remember: You know _nothing_.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Bye, Thora.”

Before she could do anything, he took off running. Turning, she watched him disappear into the village. It was then she began tasting blood and she frowned; she had been biting her tongue so hard, she cut it.

“Ow,” she mumbled, raising her hand to her lips. She scrunched her nose up as she found the blood to be trickling down her chin by this point. ‘Gothi’s going to hit me,’ she thought, shaking her head. Spitting on the ground, she tried to wipe her tongue off on her sleeve and, though it somewhat worked, it also left a bad taste in her mouth.

A small yelp left her mouth and she spun around when she felt a light tapping on her shoulder. At first, she saw no one –then she looked down, finding Gothi standing before her, an eyebrow raised. She used the butt of her staff to lightly tap the ground, where she had written something.

“A-aye, I’m fine,” Thora replied after reading the message. “Just bit my tongue really hard is all.” She prayed to the gods that Gothi believed her; she wasn’t the best of liars.

Her brow still raised, Gothi motioned for her to lean down.

“It’s fine,” Thora assured her. “I’ve done it often enough that-Ack!”

The old woman had hooked her around the neck with her cane, pulling her down to her level. She lightly smacked Thora’s cheek, making the teen open her mouth so she could see what damage she had done. What she saw was not only a bloody mess, but the reason for it: Thanks to her troll blood, Thora’s teeth were more pointed and sharp than a human’s.

“’Ee? Eh’s ‘ine!” Thora told her, despite keeping her mouth wide open.

Shaking her head, Gothi pushed her jaw closed and grabbed her wrist. She dragged the girl back up the path to her home, only stopping twice so she could check Thora’s tongue. By the time they reached her home, the teen’s tongue had stopped bleeding, though blood still stained her chin. Pulling Thora inside, she pointed at a stool, a stern look on her face.

Not wanting to bring about her wrath, Thora sat down and watched the old woman. Swallowing hard, she cringed; the taste of blood still lingered on her tongue. When Gothi thrust a small, wooden cup into her hands, though, she expected things were about to taste far worse.

‘Vinegar, mint, and clove,’ she wrote. ‘Do NOT swallow. Swish it around and then spit it outside. It will sting like Thor’s lightning, but it will help.’

Eyeing its contents cautiously, Thora scrunched her nose up before tilting her head back and pouring some of the liquid into her mouth. She almost spat it back out thanks to the foul taste, but managed to swish it around like instructed.

A hoarse laugh left Gothi’s throat as she watched the faces Thora made. After a few minutes, the girl rushed outside and she could hear her practically gagging as she spat out the mixture. Shaking her head, she went over to one of her many shelves and pulled down a few jars of burn ointment.

When Thora came back in, wiping her tongue on her sleeve, Gothi was sitting at her table with her hands wrapped around one of the jars. Her eyes were closed and she was silently muttering something to herself; the teen could see a faint glow beneath her palms.

“Whoa,” she murmured, eyes widening.

Gothi opened one eye, looking up at the girl. An amused smile came to her lips and she motioned for her to take a seat. ‘Today will be fairly easy,’ she wrote on a piece of blackened wood. ‘I am going to teach you a spell that will –hopefully- strengthen the effects of these medicines.’

“I’m guessin’ we’re doin’ this just in case somethin’ goes wrong tomorrow?” Thora questioned, turning over an empty cauldron and using it for her seat. ‘Not that tomorrow is actually going to happen if Hiccup left…And I should really have dad make Gothi a few more stools. Sitting on this cauldron is not the more comfortable thing ever.’

Nodding, the old woman slid a jar towards her. ‘The spell is simple enough to memorize. As for the magic, it will be somewhat simple. You know how, when you are giving life to dried plants, you envision them returning to their living state?’ Thora nodded. ‘I want you to do the same, only instead of returning life to plants, you will be thinking of a medicine that heals burns quickly.’

At that, the teen cocked her brow. “Er…that’s not the same at all.” She winced as Gothi smacked her arm; it didn’t hurt, but it was enough to make her shush.

‘It is the same process,’ Gothi scolded, her brows furrowed as she scribbled with the chalk. ‘You concentrate on what you want to happen and, with luck, your magic will make it happen.’

Thora nodded in understanding. “But how will we know if it worked? Neither o’ us have burns.”

Gothi wrote nothing in reply to her words, but Thora could see the mischievous look in her eye. Instead, she wrote out the spell that would need to be uttered in order to strengthen the medicines. When she finished, she passed the board to Thora, who silently read it over a few times.

“Aye, that’s easy,” she agreed. “Helps that it’s short, too.” With a small sigh, she grabbed the jar in front of her and closed her eyes. Before she did anything else, however, she deepened her breathing, managing to calm herself in order to focus better at the task at hand. She did her best to picture herself applying the medicine to a burn on someone’s arm, though the person quickly turned into a badly burned Hiccup. Regardless, she furrowed her brows and quietly repeated the spell.

_‘Eir of Asgard, to thee I entreat_

_Strengthen this salve so it may_

_Mend wounds with haste_

_And delay infection’s foray’_

Cracking open an eye, she glanced down at her hands. They weren’t glowing like Gothi’s had done, nor did she feel the familiar cool tingles that normally came when she did magic.

“Did I do it right?” she questioned, turning her attention to the old woman.

She shrugged, still wearing the mischievous look. ‘Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Do you think you did it?’

Thora shook her head. “No…I didn’t feel the magic tingles.”

‘Then do it again. Concentrate harder. You will know when you have done it.’

She watched the teen fix her eyes on the jar and even out her breathing once more. Thora repeated the spell, but once more, nothing happened. She gave it a third try, and still nothing happened. Soon, a bit of blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth and Gothi knew she was biting her tongue in annoyance.

Sighing, the old woman wiped the chalk from her board before writing anew. ‘Stop biting your tongue, child!’ she scolded. ‘Go rinse your mouth out again and then return. We will find out what is keeping you from performing.’

Thora grumbled to herself as she stood, her self-frustration all too evident on her face. Grabbing the cup containing the vinegar mixture, she went outside where she swished it around her mouth before spitting it over the edge of the porch. Her tongue was filled with the stinging of a hundred bees, but she ignored it. Going back inside, she plopped down on the cauldron and read what Gothi had written while she was out.

‘You are saying the spell right and I can tell you are trying your best to muster your magic, so it must mean your concentration is the problem,’ the board said.

“More than likely,” she admitted, slouching forward. Gothi lightly smacked her shoulder and she sat upright. “I’m doin’ like ya told me, though: Picturin’ the medicine bein’ applied to a burn.”

Gothi gave her a ‘go on’ look.

She glanced away, grabbing a lock of her hair to mess with rather than biting her tongue. “It’s just, every time I try t’ picture _just_ the wound, I end up seein’ Hiccup covered in burns instead.” Peeking over at Gothi, she let out a sigh and went back to staring at the tabletop.

A look of understanding overtook Gothi’s face and she slowly nodded. Reaching over, she comfortingly patted Thora’s elbow. ‘You’re worried about him,’ she wrote. ‘That is wholly understandable, child. After all, he will be fighting a Monstrous Nightmare tomorrow.’

Thora could only nod.  ‘No he won’t,’ she thought, ‘but she doesn’t know that. And neither does my brain, apparently.’

‘However, you cannot allow that worry to consume you,’ she continued. ‘We are Vikings. It is an occupational hazard of ours to get injured during battle –and that goes for Hiccup as well.’

At that, Thora couldn’t help but smile. “Uncle Stoick says that all the time.”

Gothi grinned. ‘Where do you think he learned it from?’ she wrote, her cheekiness clear. ‘Now, let’s give this another go, shall we?’

Nodding, Thora did the exact same as before, only this time she was able to keep the mental image of an injured Hiccup at bay. As she recited the spell, she could feel the coolness just beginning to touch her fingers. But it disappeared just as quickly as it had come, letting her know it hadn’t worked again. However, having felt it even for that brief moment bolstered her confidence and she made a fourth attempt.

Gothi watched and listened as Thora recited the spell, this time speaking slower. A smile spread across her aged face as, sure enough, a gentle light began to glow beneath the girl’s palms. When Thora opened her eyes, she lightly clapped her hands together, letting her know she had finally succeeded.

 

* * *

 

 

“I wonder if he’s going to rip its head off?”

“Dude, when has he even made a dragon _bleed_? He’s more than likely going to use his weird dragon magic to kill it.”

Tuffnut rolled his eyes, scoffing at his sister. “Come _on!_ I mean, his weird dragon powers are cool and all, but he’s gotta put on some sort of show tomorrow. The whole village is going to be there. His _dad_ is going to be there.”

Ruffnut shrugged, dragging a comb through her twin’s hair. “I don’t know. I mean…If I had to fight a dragon in front of Stoick the Vast, I’d probably go for the quickest method. Sure, it’s not flashy, but it means Stoick would stop looking at me sooner.”

Cocking his brow, Tuffnut tried to glance back at his sister. “…Why wouldn’t you want him looking at you? He’s just our chief.”

“Duh! That’s why.” She shuddered. “It’s like he’s staring into my soul.”

Tuffnut rolled his eyes again, but snickered. “Like you even have a soul.”

“I do, too, have a soul!” she scolded, trying to fight a knot. His hair was much thicker than hers and wasn’t as well-kept, making combing a difficult task.

“No you don’t. Remember? You traded me your soul for my plate of dessert when we were five.”

Her brow rose. “Uh, no. It was the other way around, with _you_ trading me _your_ soul for _my_ dessert.”

He turned, not caring that he pulled the comb (still in his hair) out of her hands. “No way! You totally gave me your soul!”

She shoved his shoulder. “Stop trying to make yourself cooler than you are. It was your soul that was traded!”

He shoved her back, frowning. “Dude, my soul is worth _way_ more than a meager slice of cake and you know it!”

“…Er…souls can’t be traded like that, ya sillies.”

The twins looked up, both with their fists drawn back and ready to hit the other. They found their mother entering the house, a basket resting in the crook of her arm. “Hi, mom!” they chirped, smiles suddenly overtaking their features as she set the basket on the table.

Ylva shook her head as she reached over, gently pushing her children apart. “Alright, what started the argument this time?” she questioned. Sitting between the two, she grabbed her son’s hair, starting to detangle the comb from it.

“Ruffnut thinks Hiccup is going to use his fancy dragon powers in the Kill Ring tomorrow,” Tuffnut answered, matter-of-factly.

“And Tuffnut thinks he’s going to actually fight the dragon,” Ruffnut replied, “which he hasn’t actually done at all during classes.” She crossed her legs before peeking inside the basket.

“It makes sense!” Tuffnut argued. “His dad is going to be there and he’s going to want to prove his worth!”

Ylva sighed, silently asking the gods why her children came out so odd. “I’m going to have t’ agree with your sister, Tuff. If Hiccup hasn’t done any fightin’ so far, why should he suddenly start now?”

Tuffnut pouted. “But his dad…” He flinched as some of his finer, baby hairs were pulled. “Ooww…”

Managing to get the comb free, Ylva lightly rubbed the top of his head before kissing it. “Sorry, son, but real warriors don’t show off just because their da’ is watching,” she chuckled, handing the comb back to Ruffnut.

“See? Told you!” Ruffnut smirked. She frowned slightly as her mother mussed up her freshly combed hair.

“Don’t gloat at your brother,” Ylva gently scolded. “Now, it’ll be gettin’ dark soon, which means I’ve got t’ get started on some yak stew. Tuff, will ya help me with the vegetables while Ruff goes t’ get us some water?”

“I guess,” Tuffnut sighed theatrically. He then adopted his scholar voice. “But only because Ruffnut doesn’t know how to properly dice the carrots for optimum softness.”

Ruffnut frowned, but also put on her intelligent tone. “I, at least, am aware of how vital fresh, cool water is to the making of yak stew. And, may I add that while you know how to properly dice the carrots, it is _I_ who is able to choose the freshest onions when at the market!”

Unable to stop herself, Ylva cracked up. The twins grinned mischievously at one another, knowing just how much their ‘smart voices’ amused their mother. Reaching over, Ylva patted them both on the head, sighing in content.

“Why the two o’ ya went and devoted your lives t’ Loki, I’ll never know. Ya would have made such wonderful disciples o’ Odin or Bragi…”

The twins scrunched their noses up.

“No way,” Ruffnut told her mother, picking up a pair of buckets. “Following Odin is for people like Stoick or Gothi.” With buckets in hand, she disappeared out the door.

“And being a follower of Bragi is just asking to have a boring life,” Tuffnut added. “Rich, yeah, but boring.” He headed into the pantry to gather vegetables. “Is Uncle Bucket going to be eatin’ with us?”

It was Ylva’s turn to roll her eyes as she chuckled. “Ya know, there’s more t’ life than playing pranks and setting things on fire. And aye, your uncle will be joining us.” Pulling the basket over to her, she reached in and pulled out a large yak roast, which she set on a wooden board to make it easier to cut.

“Alright, so yak stew…you’ll need thyme, rosemary, wine, and some of those dried bay leaf things, right?” Tuffnut questioned, poking his head out of the pantry.

“As well as salt an’ pepper, love. An’ don’t forget the butter and the flour.”

He nodded, despite knowing she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I know. I was just checking the seasonings.” Coming out of the pantry, he bore an armful of vegetables and spice jars. These he set on the table, earning a small shake of the head from his mom. “What? It’s easier to do just one load,” he chuckled.

She was trimming the fat from the meat, tossing it into a wooden bowl. “I know, but one of these days, you’re goin’ t’ drop everythin’ and it’s going t’ be an enormous mess.” Glancing up, she watched as Tuffnut started to peel the carrots and her brow rose; he had around ten of the roots in front of him. “Why so many carrots, love?”

He peeked up at her for a second before looking back down at his work. “Uncle Bucket likes carrots,” he replied, shrugging. “Figured it’s been awhile since he’s eaten with us, so…why not?”

Ylva said nothing, but smiled. The twins would never admit it, but she knew well enough how much they adored their Uncle Bucket –even if they did sometimes play their pranks on him. She continued to cut up the roast while Tuffnut made quick work of preparing the vegetables. By the time she had finished dicing the meat, he was already rendering the bits of fat and some pats of butter in the bottom of a large pot.

“Did ya add salt an’ pepper t’ the flour?” she questioned, peeking into the bowl of flour he had prepared.

“Yes, mom.”

“Good. Thank you.” She grabbed a handful of meat and made to put it in the bowl of flour, but was forced to stop halfway there as she covered her mouth with the back of her wrist, hiding a yawn.

A small frown came to his lips. “…Long day?” he asked.

She nodded, finally adding the meat into the flour. She tossed it around, making sure to get it thoroughly coated. “Aye. Spent most o’ it helpin’ Pála make the hard-bread for the winter. Is the pot hot enough yet?”

Tuffnut stuck his hand in the pot, holding it just an inch above the bottom. “Yeah, it’s hot,” he answer, quickly pulling his hand out and shaking it. “I thought Pála had Egil to help her with that sort of thing?”

“Egil was working on the everyday bread. Stand back; this is goin’ t’ splatter a bit.” She let the floured meat fall into the cauldron, where it began sizzling the instant it touched the hot oil. “With how much you an’ your sister like hittin’ each other, it should have been the two o’ ya helpin’ her, not me.”

He snickered. “Ruffnut would have ruined it somehow. You know she can’t cook or bake to save her life!”

She cocked her brow. “I know. For some reason, the gods thought it funny to bless my _son_ with a _woman’s_ talent,” she teased, her tone dry.

Tuffnut’s cheeks turned dark red and he pouted. He opened his mouth to say something, but the door was suddenly opened and Bucket and Ruffnut burst in, Ruffnut sitting proudly atop Bucket’s shoulders. She wore a triumphant grin and had her hands on her hips while Bucket held the buckets of water, a content smile on his face.

“Look who I found!” Ruffnut lightly tapped the top of her uncle’s bucket. “And he even carried the water back for me!”

“I like helpin’,” Bucket replied, still smiling. “Especially when I help people who give me food.”

A tender smile came to Ylva’s lips. “Ruffnut, get off your uncle,” she chuckled. “Thank ya for helpin’ her, Bucket. You can set the water over by Tuffnut.”

“Anything else I can help with?” he questioned, leaning over so Ruffnut had an easier time getting back to the ground. “I like helping.”

“Yeah,” Tuffnut said. “I need help makin’ sure these carrots taste alright. I mean, I think they taste fine, but that’s just me.” He offered a piece of the orange root to Bucket, who made a happy noise as he took it and popped it in his mouth.

Still chewing, he nodded eagerly. “Yep, that’s a good carrot, it is!” he grinned. “Ruffnut said tonight was yak stew. That carrot is going to taste good in it!”

Tuffnut grinned, moving to stir the meat while his mother went to wash her hands. He didn’t see Ruffnut steal a chunk of carrot, otherwise he would have scolded her. “How’s the fishing been, Bucket?”

“Oh, good! Very good! Mulch and I brought in lots of salmon this week,” he answered, sitting down at the table making sure he was out of the way of Tuffnut and Ylva. “Most of it’s being smoked by Hroðgar and Éoforheard, but they’re also curing some of it.”

Ruffnut sat down across from him. “Good! I’ve missed smoked salmon. Hey –have you guys caught any haddock?”

He shook his head. “No…the haddock runs are best in spring. But we did manage to pull in a few nets of cod. We would have gotten more, but a Scauldron stole one of our nets.” He frowned at the memory and looked down at the table, his expression sad.

Returning from washing her hands, Ylva gently patted his shoulder. “I’m sure ya showed that Scauldron who the real boss o’ the ocean is,” she told him, kissing his temple.

He perked. “Aye, we did!” he chirped. “Mulch an’ I gave it a good thrashin’, we did! Oh!” Bucket started fumbling around with a pouch on his belt. Using his hook to hold it open, he carefully reached in with his hand before pulling something out, keeping it hidden in his fist. “I have presents for you all!”

The twins grinned broadly, both leaning over the table and eagerly holding out their hands. Their eyes widened as Bucket dropped a long, thin dragon tooth into each of their palms and they made noises of amazement.

“Those are some o’ the teeth I knocked out o’ it,” he told them, smiling. “I know ya like to sew, so I thought they’d make good needles.” He chuckled as the twins each gave him a hug of thanks.

“This will let me finally do something with that shark skin rug I have!” Tuffnut grinned, inspecting the tooth. It was about five inches long and had the slightest curve to it.

“Pft. Like you’ll find a use for that old thing,” Ruffnut snorted. Her tooth was straighter than Tuffnut’s, but it was also longer by about two inches; a little big for a needle, but she could file it down. “That bear skin I have, though –can you say new cloak?!” She let out a small cackle.

As the twins fawned over their new teeth, Bucket reached into his pouch again, this time pulling out a comb made of filed-down dragon teeth. The teeth were bound in place by a strip of bronze engraved with runes of prayer to Freya, goddess of beauty and of magic. He handed it to Ylva, who gave him a curious look.

“An’ just what is this for?” she questioned, brow raised.

“I said I had presents for you all,” was his simple reply, an innocent smile on his lips.

Taking the comb with a bit of a blush, she grinned. “Well, thank ya, ya ol’ codger,” she told him. As she put her hair up in a quick bun, using the comb to secure it, she could hear her children snickering between small hisses of pain. “Ya two had best not be poking each other with those teeth or else I’ll use ‘em t’ prick your ears!”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut froze, their eyes widening. Before Ylva could turn around, they had tucked the teeth away on their persons and adopted mildly guiltless expressions. Tuffnut made himself seem further innocent by scooping up the vegetables and adding them to the pot.

“Do I add the seasonings now, mom?” he questioned.

“Aye,” she replied, still warily eyeing the twins. “Not too much, mind ya; we can always add more later if it’s too bland.”

“No such thing as a bland yak stew,” Bucket chirped. “At least, when I have it here. But when I eat with Mulch, things are really bland.”

Ruffnut raised her brow. “Didn’t he like…burn his tongue really badly and now he can’t taste?”

Bucket thought for a moment, his brows furrowed in contemplation. “I don’t remember,” he said after a minute.

“It’s not that he burnt his tongue,” Ylva corrected, “but rather, he wasn’t ever really able t’ taste well t’ begin with.” Standing up, she went to check on Tuffnut’s progress with dinner. “Now, you’ll want t’ add the wine soon. See how the onions are gettin’ a bit see-through?”

“Translucent? Yeah,” Tuffnut replied, peering into the pot. “Let ‘em get a little more clear before I add in the wine?”

She nodded. “Only add ‘bout half this bottle, though. Otherwise, it’d be too strong.”

“Pfft!” Ruffnut raspberried with a smirk. “You can’t have too much wine in something.”

Bucket shook his head in disagreement. “Too much wine makes your head hurt,” he told her. “And it won’t go away until ya go visit Gothi an’ have her help ya. Then she scolds ya for drinkin’ too much wine. That’s when she gets scary.” He shuddered at the thought. “Who knew someone so small could be so scary?”

Ylva looked at her twins, remembering when they had been toddlers and it had just been her taking care of them. “Oh, I know all too well how…Only, in my experience, the small folk grew up an’ started takin’ care o’ themselves.”

The twins frowned. “Oh, come on, mom –we weren’t _that_ bad,” Ruffnut replied.

“Oh, you think that now. But if ever you raise a set o’ twins sent by the Trickster himself, you’ll find out just what I mean,” Ylva retorted. “Especially when you’ve no husband left t’ help ya!”

Ruffnut looked away from her mother, grumbling under her breath as her cheeks darkened.

“The stew is smellin’ good,” Bucket commented out of nowhere. “I can’t wait ‘til it’s done; my stomach is already demandin’ to be fed.”

Ylva glanced over at him as opened the wine bottle for Tuffnut. “After Tuff adds the wine, why don’t the three o’ ya head outside and spar for a bit or somethin’? That’ll help the time pass by faster.”

“That we can do!” Tuffnut grinned, stirring the contents of the pot as he poured in the wine. A great cloud of meat-and-wine scented steam rose into the air and he continued to stir for a few minutes, making sure nothing stuck to the bottom of the pot. Then, abandoning the spoon, he went over to the wall, where he grabbed one of two spears. Ruffnut soon joined him, taking the other spear before heading outside, Bucket following behind them like a very large, lost puppy.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had long since set when Gothi finally let Thora retire from her lessons that day. Exhausted, the teen descended the long, winding path back down to the village, having to stop often so that she could let out a large yawn. So tired she was that she paid no heed to the gentle sound of wings in the sky above, nor did she notice the large, dragon-shape silhouette as it soared over the village.

‘I am so ready for some sleep,’ she thought, sliding down a ladder. ‘Gothi really pushed me today. So much magic…I hope some of those salves turned out alright.’ Shaking her head, she was suddenly forced to lean against the wall as she was thrown off balance. “Whoa, let’s not do _that_ again,” she mumbled, heat filling her cheeks. She was glad no one was around to see that.

When she reached the bottom of the trail, she glanced towards the ocean. She smiled slightly; she had always enjoyed the sight of the stars and tonight they shone rather brightly. Running her hand through her hair, she sighed and continued on her way.

It was as she reached the middle of the village that she was halted by the sight of Astrid darting across the square, a mixture of fear and amazement on her face. She moved too fast for Thora to call out, though she admitted it was probably for the better. Astrid had been nothing but angry ever since Hiccup became ‘skilled’ in their classes…

‘Wonder what she’s doing out so late?’ thought Thora as she continued on her way. ‘No doubt trying to find Hiccup and discover his dragon secrets. Sorry, Astrid; that’s a secret he’s keeping for a long while…’

As she walked, she noticed how eerily quiet things were. Normally, there was some type of insect or drunkard around to make a bit of noise, but tonight, the air was completely still. It was a good thing, too, because she soon heard footsteps behind her. Her brows furrowing, she ever so slightly turned her head, trying to get a better sense of the creature’s size.

‘Not terribly big,’ she thought, bringing her tail around to her front. She pushed some hair over her shoulder with it before subtly lifting the top of her satchel. A bit of metal glinted in the moonlight, letting her know her dagger was within reach. ‘Definitely a human, though. But who would be out tonight, let alone following me? …That’s stupid, Thora –you just saw Astrid. But _why_ was she out?’

“H-hey! Thora! Psst!”

Her brows nearly became one entity, she frowned so hard. Spinning around, she found Hiccup about two yards away. He timidly smiled at her, waving awkwardly.

“What in Odin’s name are ya doin’ here?!” she hissed, eyes wide. “You’re supposed t’ be as far away from Berk as ya can get!”

He rubbed the back of his head, looking away. “Yeah…about that…” He glanced back at her, trying to muster an innocent smile. “Astrid, er…found out about Toothless.”

Thora’s jaw dropped.

“But! She didn’t kill him. Or me!” He grinned triumphantly. “I mean, she probably wanted to at first, but when I took her for a spin around the island, she warmed up to the idea of Toothless not being a dangerous dragon.”

Thora tiredly rubbed her face, trying to make sense of his words in her exhausted mind. “So, you’re tryin’ t’ tell me Astrid –the girl who hates dragons just as much as your da’, if not more so- is somehow on your side now?”

Hiccup nodded. “Yes. But it’s more complicated than that. Thora, we found something –something _big_. The dragons don’t steal from us because they want to. They _have_ to. There’s this enormous dragon on their island-”

“An alpha dragon?” she questioned, a brow rising behind her hands.

“Yeah! An alpha. It _makes_ them steal our food, otherwise it eats the other dragons.” He ran both hands through his hair, his eyes wide as he glanced between her and the ground. “The normal dragons –they don’t get any of it. They’re terrified of the alpha!”

Shaking her head, Thora held her hand up to stop him from speaking. “Ya found all this out _tonight_? With _Astrid_?”

He nodded, though stayed quiet until the time when she would lower her hand.

“An’ that’s why you’re not leavin’?”

He held his hand up, wiggling it slightly.

“Then explain –just…a little bit slower, aye?” She rubbed her temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“I’m not leaving because I have a plan,” he told her. “I’m going into that arena tomorrow and I’m going to show Berk that we can be friends with the dragons. It’s better for us to help them, especially if they’re ruled by that…that _thing_.”

“But what if that doesn’t work?” she frowned. She winced as the mental image of Hiccup, nearly dead from horrible burns and bite marks, filled her mind again.

“It _will_ work,” he said, his tone reassuring. “I’ll make it work. You…You just have to trust me, alright?” He gave her a small smile. “And maybe have some burn ointment ready just in case the dragon burps or something,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

Thora couldn’t stop herself from laughing, making Hiccup sigh in relief. “Hate t’ say it, but I’ve got three jars o’ the stuff here in my bag already. Gothi was goin’ t’ have me be down by the gate for that very reason.”

“What? Why isn’t she going to be down there?”

She shrugged. “I’m guessin’ if ya get hurt, it’ll be some sort o’ test for me. But if your plan works like ya think it will, we won’t have t’ worry about that now will we?” She gave him a somewhat scolding look.

Hiccup grinned cheekily. “When have I ever had a plan that didn’t work?” he innocently questioned.

“Bein’ as I’m not all human, I don’t have enough fingers t’ count off all your failed ideas,” she retorted, crossing her arms. A slight smirk came to her lips as she watched him frown.

“Now that’s just cruel,” he pouted. “You know very well that a number of my plans have worked over the years! Sure, their executions could have been a bit better, but they-” His voice was suddenly muffled as Thora wrapped her tail around his head a few times.

“Let’s save this chat for another time,” she yawned, using the back of her hand to cover her mouth. “I’m beyond exhausted an’ you need t’ get some rest yourself. Not t’ mention, ya need t’ come up with some excuse t’ tell Uncle Stoick as t’ why you were out so late.”

“Already got one,” he chirped when he mouth was freed.

“Oh?”

“I’ll tell him I was on a date with Astrid.” He rolled his eyes and sighed as Thora burst out into a fit of laughter once more. “What?! It’s kind of true! I mean, she did kiss me when we got back.”

Thora stopped laughing. “She _kissed_ ya?” she gaped.

“On the cheek, but it still counts!”

The giggles returning, Thora wiped a tear of mirth from her eye. “Well, there ya go, Hiccup. Not only are ya a dragon master now, but you’re also a lady’s man. You’ve got everythin’ ya’ve ever wanted in life!”

He pouted, giving her a light shove. “Very funny. Man, you really do need some sleep. I haven’t seen you this…giggly in a long while.”

She covered her mouth again. “Blame Gothi. She made me do magic all day, even when I thought I was goin’ t’ pass out from exhaustion.”

“Well…you do need to build up your endurance, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “But you’re right…it’s late and we both need sleep.”

Slowly nodding, Thora fought back another yawn. “Then I guess I’ll see ya again in the mornin’,” she replied. “Don’t stay up all night frettin’ ‘bout tomorrow, either. You’re goin’ t’ need all your strength tomorrow.”

He nodded as well. “Yeah…yeah I will.” Running his hand through his hair, he started to turn away from his cousin. “Sleep well, Thora. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“G’night, Hiccup.”

Turning as well, she walked towards her home. As she neared the door, she reached out her hand to open it, but let out a yelp and flung herself backwards as it was yanked open instead.

“Where have ya been, young lady?!” Gobber demanded, frowning deeply.

“Gothi’s!” she squeaked, eyes wide and heart racing. “Thor’s soiled undies, da’! Ya scared me nearly t’ death!” Staring up at her father from the ground, she looked very much like a frightened, feral animal.

He put his hand on his hips, giving her an incredibly fatherly glare as he reached down, hooking the back of her dress. He pulled her to her feet with ease. “I have every right t’ scare ya, especially when you’re comin’ home near midnight!” Stepping aside, he ushered her into the house. “An’ ya best not be lyin’ about bein’ at Gothi’s!”

She cocked her brow as she removed her bag, hanging it up near the door. “Da’, where else in Midgard would I have been all day?”

“Well, ya are a teenaged girl. You could have been anywhere an’ with _anyone_.”

Thora stared at her father incredulously. Then she started to giggle. “Ya really think I was out with a boy?” she soon cackled.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re at that age!”

Thora continued to laugh as she stumbled past him, heading for her hammock. “Da’, that’s never goin’ t’ happen. Only a deranged person would even think about courtin’ me.”

A large frown came to his features and he furrowed his brow. “An’ just why would you think that?”

“Uh, because it’s true?” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “Anyway, all the males my age want t’ go out with Astrid, Nanna, or Unnr.” Unclasping her apron dress, she tugged it off before hanging it up. “Now, da’, I _really_ need sleep. Gothi had me doin’ magic all day an’ I’m exhausted.” She smoothed out her tunic before trying to do the same to her hair.

Gobber let out a heavy sigh as she climbed into her hammock, but he knew better than to argue –it was all too obvious she was worn out. Shaking his head, he went over to the fire and, using his hook, pushed the logs apart so the house wouldn’t burn down during the night. He turned, finding Thora snuggling down under her blanket; her tail was draped over the edge of the hammock, left to lie partially on the floor.

Leaning over, he lightly scooped up her tail and set it within the hammock before kissing the top of her head. “Don’t think I’m not goin’ t’ finish scoldin’ you come morning,” he quietly warned with a chuckle.

“I know,” she yawned, eyes closed. “G’night, da’.”

“Goodnight, lovey.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give you all a small warning: There is some graphic imagery towards the end of this chapter. After all, a fight with a giant dragon isn't going to end up as clean as the movie made it. Anyway, thank you for your comments so far and I hope you all enjoy this chapter~

Gobber was humming one of his favorite songs when Thora woke up. As she lifted her head, peeking out from beneath her blanket, she watched as her father flipped a frying pan. A flat cake went flying into the air, flipping over before landing with a small ‘splat’ on the hot iron. With a yawn, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, not caring in the least when some of her hair fell in her face.

Grabbing an egg, Gobber cracked it into a different pan. “ _Oh, I’ve got my axe an’ I’ve got my mace, an’ I love my wife with the ugly face_ -”

“ _I’m a Viking through an’ through_ ,” Thora finished through a yawn.

He turned, a look of surprise on his face. “Well, it’s about time ya woke up, lovey!” he chuckled, cracking another egg. “I thought you were goin’ t’ sleep the whole day away.”

As she stretched, she could feel her back realign itself with many cracks and pops. “Not with ya singin’ like that, I won’t.”

“You used t’ like my singing,” he pouted.

“It’s fine –just not when I’m sleepin’.” She grinned cheekily at him, using her tail to bat away an eggshell he tossed at her. “I can tell you’re in a good mood.”

“Oh?” With another flick of his wrist, he flipped the cake out of the pan and onto a plate filled with others of its kind. “How so?”

“You’re makin’ breakfast.” Crawling out of her hammock, she headed towards the back of the house. “Be right back.”

Half of Gobber’s brow rose as he looked down at the food he had cooking. “How does makin’ food mean I’m in a good mood?” he wondered aloud. “I’ve been doin’ most o’ the cookin’ her whole life!” Shaking his head, he cracked a few more eggs while he waited for Thora to return.

By the time she came back to the main room, he was sliding about six perfectly fried eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. “Are ya goin’ t’ attempt t’ braid your hair today?” he questioned, putting four of the flat cakes alongside the eggs before dolloping a large pat of yak butter atop the pile. As Thora walked by, he handed her the plate.

Her brow rose as she took the plate. “Should I?”

He shrugged. “Well, I mean ya don’t have to. But it’d be safer –y’know, just in case the Monstrous Nightmare manages t’ shoot some fire at us villagers.”

“I won’t be up with the rest o’ you,” she replied, sitting down at the table. “Gothi wants me down at the gate in case o’ injuries.” Using her tail, she reached over and grabbed a spoon and knife. “But, I guess braidin’ my hair would still be a good idea –don’t need it tryin’ t’ get stuck in the gate or on one o’ the weapons.”

Gobber pointed an egg at her. “Too true, that. An’ with how much hair you’ve got, it’d be a right shame t’ have t’ cut it all off.”

“Truthfully, I wouldn’t mind.” She ignored her father’s shocked expression as she took a large bite of her breakfast. “It’s a pain in the arse t’ take care o’; if I cut it all off, I wouldn’t have t’ fight it so much.”

“I am _not_ lettin’ my daughter cut off her beautiful hair!” he scolded. “Especially not when it’s not been cut since you were ten! Do ya know how many of your ancestors would have killed t’ have hair like yours? Most o’ them, that’s for sure!”

She giggled through a mouthful of egg. “You’re only sayin’ that because you’ve got no hair. Oh! I know: We cut off all my hair an’ then _you_ can wear it as a wig.”

As she burst into fit of laughter, Gobber rolled his eyes. “I’ll have ya know, you’re grandpappy was entirely hairless an’ his father before him had very little hair! Consider yourself blessed t’ have so much o’ it.”

“Sounds like it’s only the males in the family who have t’ worry. Anyway, I’m sure my mum had more than enough hair t’ spare.”

“Well…aye…she was a rather hairy woman…” He scratched his chin, thinking back to the last time he saw Greta only to shake his head with a sigh. “But that’s beside the point! We’re talkin’ ‘bout my side o’ the family; not hers.”

Shrugging, Thora took another bite of her food. “Either way, I wouldn’t getting my hair cut. _No_ , I wouldn’t cut it all off, but a few inches would be good.”

He shook his head again. “Not happenin’,” he retorted, sitting down with his own plate of food. “Y’know, men like a woman with long hair. Means they’re healthy!”

She rolled her eyes. “Men also like their women without tusks an’ tails. Means they’re _normal_. “ She looked down at her plate, spearing an egg with her knife before shoving it in her mouth. “Why are ya suddenly so fixed on me findin’ a lad, anyway?”

He glanced away from her, chewing a bit of flat cake. “I’m not ‘fixed’ on ya findin’ a lad!” he pouted. “I’m just bein’ a dad t’ a teenager is all.”

“Well, I can promise ya, I’m not ‘bout t’ sneak out at night t’ meet up with a boy or somethin’,” she told him, her tone dry. “Especially with how dumb the boys my age are. …Alright, Fishlegs isn’t dumb, but still.”

Gobber nodded in agreement. “I will say most o’ them don’t seem good enough for ya, but then again, I’ve only worked with the recruits. Surely not all the males your age are idiots?”

She shrugged. “Eh…True. Einarr Svenson is alright, though I’m still positive he’s only nice t’ me because he wants t’ apprentice under you.”

“Yngling Berg is a nice lad.”

“Eh, he’s alright, I guess. Don’t really know him well.” Finishing her breakfast, she got up from the table and carried her dishes into the pantry. “His da’ is one o’ the ones who’s convinced I’m goin’ t’ turn into a human-eating monster soon, so he does his best t’ keep Yingling an’ Kenna as far away from me as possible.”

“Ugh; he _still_ thinks that?” Gobber shook his head. “Fifteen years I’ve raised ya an’ the worse ya’ve done t’ anyone is give Snotlout a couple o’ black eyes.”

She came out of the pantry, now wielding a large, metal comb. “Well, t’ be fair, I did also bite Oswald the Agreeable’s son’s leg when he tried t’ drown Hiccup.” Sitting in her hammock, she began the fight against her hair. “So there’s that.”

He waved his hand dismissively at her. “You were defendin’ your kin; that’s totally understandable! It’s not like any Viking worth their salt hasn’t bit someone in battle, anyway. I still remember the one time your Uncle Stoick bit a dragon’s toe clean off!”

“…A toe?”

“I know, I know –it doesn’t sound very exciting, but ya had t’ be there for it.” He sighed wistfully. “I still remember it like it was yesterday! We were still young –him in his early twenties, I was closer t’ my thirties- an’ there was this enormous Deadly Nadder…”

Thora quietly chuckled, shaking her head as Gobber continued on with his tale while she continued to comb her hair. She was surprised; normally, she struggled to untangle the knots. At the moment, however, it was a battle she was easily winning.

‘I guess all those oils Gothi has me putting in my hair are helping,’ she thought. ‘That, and starting from the bottom like Ruffnut told me to do…’

 

* * *

 

 

Three hours later found the entirety of Berk’s population gathered around the Kill Ring. Hiccup had yet to be seen that day, leaving Astrid and Thora alone by the gate while Gobber arranged the weapons rack inside the arena. Neither girl spoke; instead, they leaned against either wall, doing their best to avoid making eye contact with the other. Occasionally, however, one of them stole a quick glance at the other before quickly looking away again.

It was Astrid who eventually broke the silence when she noticed Thora going through her satchel. “So…ah, I take it Gothi sent you to be here in her place?”

“Aye.” She managed a small, nervous laugh. “Guess she wanted t’ stay out o’ harm’s way.” Closing her bag, she bit her tongue and peeked out at the crowd.

The villagers were starting to get antsy.

“…Well, with luck, Hiccup will be victorious and you won’t need to heal him.”

With Gobber still working on the weapon placements, Thora knew it was safe to speak about Hiccup’s plan. “With luck, his crazy plan is goin’ t’ work an’ we can stop killin’ dragons.” Astrid’s eyes widened in shock. “What? Ya honestly think Hiccup wouldn’t tell me ‘bout Toothless? We tell each other _everythin_ ’.”

“But…” She narrowed her eyes a bit. “How long have you known?”

She shrugged. “A while.” The crowd suddenly erupted in a loud chant of ‘Hiccup! Hiccup!’ and she cringed, covering her ears for a moment.

Both girls turned as the front gate opened just enough to allow Hiccup to enter the stone hallway. He stopped about halfway down, holding his horned helm and looking as nervous as ever. He managed to smile at the girls, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” was all he said before the crowd went silent. He slouched forward a bit as Stoick began to give a speech.

Thora went over to him, giving him a small nudge on the shoulder with her tail. “You’ll be fine,” she quietly assured him.

Astrid came over as well. “Be careful with that dragon.”

His eyes followed his father’s every move. “It’s…not the dragon I’m worried about.”

“What’re ya goin’ t’ do?” questioned Thora.

“Put an end to this. I have to try.” He turned towards them. “Astrid…Thora…If something goes wrong, promise me you’ll take care of Toothless. They _can’t_ find him.”

“I promise,” they spoke in unison.

“Just…promise us nothing will go wrong,” Astrid continued, concern written on her features.

Before Hiccup could speak, Gobber walked into view. “It’s time, Hiccup,” he chirped. Despite his pleasant tone, there was worry in his eyes as he looked at the lad. “Knock ‘em dead.”

As Hiccup exited the hall, Gobber shut the gate. He patted Thora on the shoulder before taking his leave to go stand beside Stoick in the audience. Astrid and Thora were left alone, both waiting with baited breath as Hiccup took his time observing what weapons he would pick.

“A shield’s smart,” Astrid mumbled, watching him grab one.

“So long as he keeps ahold o’ it,” agreed Thora.

At last, Hiccup grabbed a dagger and gave a small nod –the sign that he was ready. The crowd suddenly grew silent as the log keeping the Monstrous Nightmare locked away was raised. An explosion of molten fire and scales burst forth as the dragon sought freedom, causing nearly everyone to jump in surprise. It roared at no one in particular before darting around the arena, spewing its liquid fire at the crowd; thankfully, the Vikings knew its tactics well and were able to dodge out of the way.

Then, the dragon saw Hiccup. Slowly, it let the flames covering its body go out before lowered itself to the ground. Its eyes stayed ever fixed on its prey. The dragon recognized Hiccup as kin to the creatures that had locked away, but then he began to shed its weapons. When he tossed aside his metal hat, the dragon realized that this one wasn’t like the others-

“Stop the fight!” Stoick’s voice rang out. When Hiccup ignored his command, he clenched his teeth and jumped out of his seat. “I SAID, STOP THE FIGHT!” he shouted, slamming his hammer down on the iron bars.

“Oh no,” Thora whispered, her eyes wide and her hands instinctively covering her ears.

The dragon snapped at Hiccup before lunging at him, the noise having driven it back into madness.

“HICCUP!” Astrid shouted, clinging onto the gate. She suddenly let go again as it was thrown upwards by Thora.

The two girls darted into the arena, intent on helping Hiccup and ignoring the gate as it slammed shut again. Grabbing a hammer, Astrid threw it at the dragon as it chased Hiccup, managing to hit it on the head. The Monstrous Nightmare roared and changed direction, heading for her. Before the dragon could reach her, however, Thora pulled her out of the way, snarling at the creature.

For a moment, the Monstrous Nightmare stared at her, confused –that noise was most definitely _not_ one made by humans. The roaring of the crowd quickly drove it back into its frenzy and it dove forward only to miss its target as Thora darted past its teeth.

“Over here!” Stoick shouted. He waved at the teens, urging them to come towards him. Astrid was the first and only one to duck into the safety of the hall; the dragon belched forth a stream of fire, stopping Hiccup while its tail swung into Thora, knocking her feet out from under her. Somewhere in the crowd, Gobber was shouting in horror.  

With a grunt of pain, Thora got back up in time to see Hiccup get pinned below the Nightmare’s foot. Anger and an urge to protect Hiccup filled every fiber of her being and she charged at the Monstrous Nightmare, teeth bared as she shouted at the dragon. A familiar, high-pitched wail filled the air, grabbing her attention and making her stop in her tracks.

“Night Fury!” someone shouted.

There was an explosion. A cloud of smoke and dust suddenly filled the Kill Ring. As it dissipated, two dragons were seen wrestling in the arena while Hiccup coward near the far wall. Kicking the Monstrous Nightmare off of him, Toothless backed up towards his rider, using his body as a shield.

“Odin’s beard…” Thora whispered, her eyes wide.

Every time the Nightmare tried to get past Toothless to reach Hiccup, the Night Fury would mirror its movements, stopping it. Finally, the Nightmare backed down when it realized it couldn’t get to the human.

But that was when the Vikings started to fill the arena. They ran at Toothless, trying to tackle the dragon to the ground, but Toothless knocked them away with his wings and tail. When they got too close, he kicked them away. Hiccup shouted something and he momentarily stopped –but then he saw the large Viking running towards him, an ax raised above his head.

Thora, seeing Stoick charging at Toothless, darted forward and shouted, trying to stop her uncle. A curse suddenly flew from her mouth as Toothless slammed into her, their combined weight causing them to tumble forward twice before the dragon pinned her to the ground. With his full weight atop her, Thora watched in horror as he started to inhale for a fire blast-

“TOOTHLESS, NO!” Hiccup shouted.

Toothless turned, looking at Hiccup as he let the gasses in his mouth dissipate. He let out a cry as a Viking grabbed his head, yanking him off of Thora and pinning him to the ground. More Vikings jumped atop him, their weight preventing him from moving.

“Don’t hurt him!” Hiccup pleaded, but no one heard him as Astrid held him back. “Please! Please, just don’t hurt him!”

Stoick glared at the dragon, hatred and anger filling his eyes. He set his ax down. “Put him with the others,” he ordered, turning away. Walking over to Astrid and Hiccup, he grabbed his son by the arm, dragging him away from the scene.

“Thora! Oh, gods, Thora –lovey, are ya alright?” Gobber cried, running over to Thora. She had gotten to her feet, but as Gobber drew nearer, he found that she hadn’t escaped unscathed. Parts of the left side of her clothing were shredded from the impact with Toothless and she was bleeding from her mouth, shoulder, and hip.

He was so focused on his daughter, he didn’t notice how the other Vikings were keeping their distance from her.

Regardless, she didn’t seem to notice her injuries. “I’m fine,” she told Gobber. “I’m fine, but –but where’s Hiccup? Is he hurt? Is anyone hurt?”

He shook his head. “Stoick just took Hiccup off. No doubt t’ give him the scoldin’ o’ a lifetime. No one else is hurt, though.” He set his hook on her uninjured shoulder, starting to gently push her through the crowd. “C’mon, lovey, let’s get ya t’ Gothi-”

She shook her head, unconsciously trying to run her fingers through her hair only to find it still tied back in a braid. “No, no…I’m fine. Really, da’. But I need t’ find Hiccup. I need t’ make sure he’s not hurt.”

“Lovey, you’re bleedin’ from three different parts o’ your body. I’m takin’ ya t’ Gothi.”

Pulling away from him, she reached into her satchel and began searching through it –some of the jars had been broken during the fight. Finding an unbroken one, she brought it out and opened it, releasing a strange scent into the air. Gobber watched as she took a good dollop of the contents and smeared them across her arm and hip where the fabric had been torn. She hissed in pain, but the blood stopped flowing.

“There,” she told him, capping the jar once more. “All better. Now, if ya don’t mind…” Before Gobber had the chance to stop her, she darted away. As she ran she could hear her father yelling after her, but she was more focused on trying to listen for Stoick and Hiccup.

Nearing the village, she was finally able to catch snippets of yelling coming from the Great Hall. At first, things were just a jumble of angry sounds, but as she began to climb the stairs leading to the hall, words –as well as the pain in her hip and mouth- became clearer. She forced herself to slow down, knowing the two angry males would still be there when she reached the top.

“The Dragon!?” she could hear Stoick cry, his tone incredulous. “That’s what you’re worried about? Not the people you almost killed?! Not your cousin _he_ almost killed!?”

“He was just protecting me!” argued Hiccup. “He’s not dangerous!”

“They’ve killed HUNDREDS o’ us!”

“And we’ve killed THOUSANDS OF THEM!” Hiccup shouted; Thora had never heard him use such a tone against his father. “They defend themselves, that’s all! They raid us because they have to! If they don’t bring enough food back, they’ll be eaten themselves.” He sighed. “There’s something else on their island, dad –it’s a dragon like no-”

Thora cringed, stopping as she reached the top. “Bad idea, Hiccup,” she whispered. Walking up to the door, she found it ajar; when she tried to look inside, however, she couldn’t see much.

“Their island?” Stoick interrupted. “So you’ve been t’ the nest.”

“Did I say nest?” Hiccup’s tone was back to being timid.

“How did ya find it?!”

“N-No, I didn’t. Toothless did. Only a dragon can find the island—Oh no. Oh no, dad-” Thora hurried away from the door as she heard Stoick stalking towards it. “–No! It’s not what you think. You don’t know what you’re up against! It’s like _nothing_ you’ve ever seen. Dad!” Hiccup was begging by now –another tone Thora had never heard from her cousin. “Dad, please! I promise you can’t win this one! For once in your life, would you please just listen to me!?”

The words that came out of Stoick’s mouth made Thora’s eyes instantly fill with tears. “You’ve thrown your lot in with them. You’re not a Viking. You’re not my son.” Throwing open the doors to the hall, Stoick stepped outside and let the doors clatter shut behind him. “Ready the ships!” he called out, fists clenched at his sides.

Turning, Thora could see that a number of villagers had gathered at the foot of the steps. But her attention was quickly drawn back to her uncle as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

For a moment, he was silent as he looked her over. “Are you badly hurt?” he quietly asked a moment later.

She shook her head, unable to speak after what she had just heard. Stealing at glance up at his face, she could see the pain and hurt in his eyes; she knew he regretted his words, but at the same time, she knew his anger was still too great to humble him into an apology.

“Then I want you t’ gather your healing things. Meet us at the docks in an hour.”

“Wh-why me?” she managed to squeak out.

“Gothi is too old for this sort o’ journey,” he replied. “An’ Ylva will no doubt be in need o’ help.” Without another word, he descended the steps, leaving Thora alone on the landing.

When he reached the bottom, she darted inside the hall. She found Hiccup sitting on the ground, his face buried in his knees. Ignoring the pain in her hip, she knelt down beside him and pulled him against her in a tight hug. For many long minutes, all was silent.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he finally whispered. “I was so close to showing them…So close…”

“Ya had no idea it’d turn out like this, Hiccup,” she quietly told him, gently rubbing his arms.

“Maybe it would have been better if I _had_ just run away.”

“Ya wouldn’t have been able t’ run forever.”

“But none of this would have happened.”

“Aye, but what if somethin’ worse was to have happened? What then?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I just…I’m just a failure at being a Viking.”

She kissed the top of his head, giving him an extra squeeze. “Even the gods had t’ start from nothin’,” she gently reminded him. “For all we know, you could be a great warrior someday.”

Hiccup shook his head. “No. Not anymore. You heard dad. He…” His voice caught in his throat and a tear rolled down his cheek. “He disowned me.”

“He’s upset. When he calms down, he’ll forgive ya.”

“Not this time. This was my only chance and I messed it up.” Biting his tongue, he shook his head and clenched his fists. “He’s going to use Toothless to get to the island and try to kill all those dragons. It’s not going to work, Thora. I _know_ what’s on that island and…and I’m afraid I won’t see my dad again after all this.”

She bit her tongue. “I’ll do my best t’ make sure ya do,” she murmured.

Frowning, he pulled back slightly, looking at her in confusion. “Wh-what?”

She sighed. “Uncle Stoick’s makin’ me go with the warriors,” she quietly admitted. “He said Ylva’s goin’ t’ need help an’ since Gothi’s too old…”

“But you’re too young!” he argued. “And you’re hurt!” His eyes suddenly widened as he realized her face and clothes were covered in blood. “Oh gods, _you’re hurt_! Thora, I’m so sorry—you’d be fine if it wasn’t-”

She wrapped her tail around his mouth, silencing him as she cocked a brow. “I’m fine,” she told him. “They’re fairly minor an’ I’ve already thrown some medicine on them. An’ I can always get new clothes. But that’s not goin’ t’ change the fact that I’m bein’ forced t’ go with them.” She sighed. “This means I’ll be near Toothless –hopefully. Uncle Stoick doesn’t know I knew ‘bout Toothless yet, so I should be able t’ get fairly close t’ him at some point.” She was able to muster a small, reassuring smile for her cousin. “If…If I can manage it, I’ll do my best to help him, alright? I can’t make any promises, though.”

Hiccup nodded, his mouth still covered by her tail. He said something, but the words were too muffled. “I’ve told him about you,” he repeated when she unwound her tail, “so if you just…told him who you were or that you’re my cousin, he should trust you. And I am sorry about him tackling you earlier…”

She shook her head. “I was tryin’ t’ keep Uncle Stoick from splittin’ him in half.” She smirked, unknowing to how scary she looked thanks to the blood on her chin. “An’ it worked, mind you.”

“At your expense, though.”

Shrugging, Thora pulled him back into a hug. “I’ve had worse,” she assured him, giving him a small squeeze. “Are you hurt?”

“Physically? No. Just…” He sighed, letting his head fall against her chest, “just emotionally scarred for life.”

She kissed the top of his head again. “Things will work out,” she murmured. “They always do. Even if everythin’ seems t’ be goin’ t’ Hel in a handbasket right now.”

“And people always accuse _me_ of being the optimist between the two of us.” He let out a small laugh. “I honestly don’t know how you’re managing it right now.”

Thora grinned. “Someone’s got t’ help ya stop wallowin’ in self-pity.” She ruffled his hair before letting out a sigh as she heard people shouting outside. “…I guess I better go get my things.”

Hiccup watched as she pulled away and stood up, adjusting her bag. “Promise me you’ll do you best to stay safe.”

“I swear it.” Giving him a small nudge with her tail, she headed towards the door. Stopping in the doorway, she sighed and glanced over her shoulder; Hiccup was still watching him. She flashed him a small smile before leaving the Great Hall.

Thanks to Stoick’s orders, the village was bursting with life. The warriors ran about, gathering their weapons and armor while the rest did their best to stay out of the way. As Thora headed towards her home, however, she noticed how everyone did their best to stay as far from her as possible. Thinking it was because of the blood on her face, she bit her tongue and tried to wipe her face clean –a tough task, since the blood had long since dried.

Reaching her home, she peeked inside to find the house empty. With a small sigh, she stepped inside and, taking her bag off, carefully spilled its contents onto the table. Many of the jars had been smashed during the run-in with Toothless, but she was glad to find at least three of them unharmed.

“Two burn ointments an’ my salve for cuts,” she mumbled. Sorting through the rest of the bag’s contents, she plucked broken bits of pottery out of the stems of various plants. “As well as lots o’ raw lavender an’ chamomile. Well, I’m set for burns…I hope Ylva has bandages, because I’ve got none.” She tried to run her hand through her hair, but found it still tied back in a braid. Shaking her head, she carefully repacked her bag before going to the wall near her hammock.

Opening a large chest, she riffled through its contents for a moment before pulling out the clothes Gothi had given her. She went into the pantry and washed the blood from her body before changing, not wanting to risk Gobber accidentally walking in on her. For the most part, the clothes still fit, though the apron dress was painfully tight across her chest and hips.

“Hope she doesn’t mind if I alter this,” she mumbled as she searched the trunk once more. She pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped the seams along either side of the apron dress. A sigh left her mouth as she found herself able to breathe freely again. Tossing the scissors back into the trunk, she let the lid fall shut before grabbing her bag and leaving the house again.

By the time she reached the docks, the remaining ships had nearly all been outfitted with catapults and filled with as many weapons and Vikings they could carry. Stoick and Gobber stood near the largest vessel –Thora recognized it as the fishing ship belonging to Mulch. As she drew nearer to Stoick and Gobber, she glanced around as she started to hear the warriors whispering.

_“Why is **she** here?” _

_“She better just be seein’ Gobber off…”_

_“I’m surprised Stoick didn’t have **her** locked up, too…”_

_“Did ya **see** her in the ring? Absolutely monstrous!”_

She froze, her eyes widening. Swallowing hard, she glanced around but the whispering had stopped when the warriors realized she was within earshot.

“They…they think I should be locked up…?” she mumbled, her tail drooping. “I was protectin’ Hiccup…”

“Ah, Thora. There you are.”

She looked up at Stoick and Gobber approached her.

“Have you got your medicines an’ whatnot?” her uncle questioned.

Nodding, she glanced down at her bag as she pulled it closer to her. “Aye.”

“Stoick, I still think she’s too young t’ be comin’ with us,” Gobber firmly told him. “She’s only fifteen-”

“We were killin’ our first dragons by her age,” Stoick told him. “An’ you know as well as I that her help will be needed.” He gave his niece a look of confidence, though she could still see the pain in his eyes. “I have plenty o’ faith in Thora an’ what she’s learned so far.”

Gobber let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sayin’ I _don’t_ –just, as her father, I think it best she stay here.”

“It’ll be fine, da’,” she quietly told him. “I have t’ learn t’ tend wounds in battle someday.”

Stoick nodded in agreement. “See, Gobber? She knows this is important for more than one reason.” He glanced out over the ships before turning around and looking up. He was just in time to see Toothless, bound and chained to a platform, being lowered down from the top of the cliffs.

‘Oh gods, Toothless, I’m so sorry…’ Thora thought, her eyes widening as she, too, watched as the dragon was lowered.

“Thora, lovey,” Gobber murmured, stepping closer to his daughter, “I want ya t’ stay on the same ship as me an’ Stoick, alright?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, starting to lead her towards the ship. “I know it’ll put ya close t’ the Night Fury, but it can’t hurt ya. I just…I just don’t want ya out o’ my sight, alright?”

“I’m not afraid o’ the dragon,” she told him.

He gave her a small smile and gently patted her on the shoulder. “Ah, that’s my lovey! I knew ya inherited my Viking spirit,” he chuckled. “Regardless, though, I don’t want ya out o’ my sight. An’ when the battle starts, I want ya t’ stick near Ylva. This isn’t her first battle an’ she’ll be able t’ help ya keep your wits about ya.”

She nodded, letting out a small sigh as she and Gobber boarded the ship. “Aye, I understand,” she replied. “I just…don’t think this is a good idea. This whole goin’ t’ the dragon’s nest thing. Somethin’ bad is goin’ t’ happen.”

Gobber let out a heavy sigh. “You know your uncle…once his mind’s fixed on somethin’, he’s not one t’ let it go,” he admitted. “He’s stubborn an’ boar-headed.” Half his brow rose as a strong wind suddenly picked up, blowing in the direction they would be heading. “Huh…”

Thora turned, scanning the cliffs. She could see Gothi standing about halfway up, her eyes shut as she held two young children close to her. Despite her lack of voice, she was moving her mouth, letting Thora know she was the reason for the favorable winds. Whether it was a spell or a prayer to the gods, however, she didn’t know.

_“She **is** comin’ with us! Why would Stoick risk that!? Didn’t he see how she was in the ring?!”_

_“I always knew she was a monster. D’ya remember what her mother was like on the battlefield? No doubt she’ll end up the same –all trolls are like that. Only good for battle they are.”_

_“Great. Now we not only have t’ deal with the dragon, but we have t’ deal with that beast as well…”_

Thora slammed her hands over her ears. “Shut up, shut up _, shut up_!” she whispered, glancing around for the source of the voices. She could feel tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but she held them back.

Gobber frowned, concerned by Thora’s sudden change in demeanor. “What is it? Thora, what’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “It’s n-nothin’,” she mumbled, eyes clenched shut.

“Don’t lie, Thora.”

“It’s nothin’,” she repeated. “Just…just a bit o’ a headache. All the shoutin’ isn’t helpin’.”

He said nothing, but eyed her cautiously. Gobber knew she was lying, but at the same time, he didn’t want to start any arguments –least of all when they were on a ship surrounded by adrenaline-fueled Vikings. Instead, he set his hand on her uninjured shoulder and led her past Toothless to the prow of the ship, making sure to stay out of the way as the warriors began the undocking process.

“This is a fine mess, isn’t it?” he sighed once the ship began to move. “Today was supposed t’ be a day o’ cheer an’ celebration. Now it’s just…”

“Not,” Thora finished for him, leaning forward on the rail. The whispering had stopped again –but she had the feeling she would hear more hushed insults as they time passed.

Gobber sighed heavily, scratching his beard with his hook. “Lovey…I want ya t’ be honest with me.” His voice was far quieter than normal; so quiet, Thora was positive a human wouldn’t hear him if they stood next to him. “Did ya know about Hiccup an’ the dragon?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “…Will I get my hide tanned if I say yes?”

“No.” He rubbed his face with a soft curse. “It’s too late for me t’ do anythin’ ‘bout it now, anyway.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “That’s not t’ say I’m not disappointed. What if his stunt today meant him gettin’ killed? Or you gettin’ killed? What would ya have done then, Thora?”

She could taste a blood as she bit her tongue. “Da’, if things had gone right-”

“But they didn’t, Thora.” He gave her a stern look. “An’ because o’ it, I _almost_ saw my only daughter die.”

“But ya didn’t,” she mumbled, unable to look at Gobber. She leaned over the side of the ship, spitting some blood into the ocean.

“No, but if Hiccup hadn’t shouted at the dragon, you’d be nothin’ more than a stain on the floor o’ the arena.”

“Aye, well half the village wishes I _had_ become a stain, so at least they’d be happy,” she snapped. Realizing she had said that aloud, she stiffened, glad she wasn’t facing her father.

Gobber’s jaw went slack as he stared at his daughter. “What did ya just say, young lady?” he asked when he had composed himself. When she shook her head and wrapped her tail around herself, he gently forced her to turn around. “Thora. _What_ did ya just say t’ me?”

The combination of parental sternness and concern in his voice easily made her give up. “I said half the village wishes Toothless did blast me,” she mumbled, staring at her feet as she continued to hug herself.

“Why would ya think-”

“They were whisperin’, thinkin’ I was out o’ earshot. They were sayin’ Uncle Stoick should have locked me up with the dragons an’ that I’m just a monster like me mum. All because I was tryin’ t’ protect Hiccup from the Monstrous Nightmare.” She swallowed hard, still doing her best to fight back tears, but they were beginning to win the battle. “I know I should ignore ‘em, da’ –I know that. An’ most o’ the time I can! But callin’ me a beast for helpin’ Hiccup? Astrid was down there, too, an’ they’re sayin’ nothin’ ‘bout her because she’s _human_!”

Gobber shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but someone else beat him to it.

“Whoever calls you a beast or a monster needs t’ be reminded of what truly makes a person a monster.” Both turned, finding Stoick approaching them. “Because you certainly _aren’t_ it and jumping into the ring t’ protect a loved one from a raging dragon proves that.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “You’re a Hairy Hooligan, Thora. They may forget that at times, but don’t _you_ ever forget it.”

“Exactly,” Gobber agreed. “An’ if anyone tries to argue that, they’ll have t’ get through my fist t’ say it.”

Stoick cocked his brow as he glanced over at his friend. “Which certainly means they’ll be dead before they have the chance t’ speak,” he chuckled. Turning his attention back to Thora, he gave her a surprisingly gentle hug, taking care to not put pressure on her wounds. “Now. I imagine you’ll need time t’ gather your magic –meditation, you called it?- so why don’t ya do that in the meantime? With these good winds, it should only be a few hours until we reach Helheim’s Gate.”

She nodded slowly, a hint of a smile on her lips. Even though their words had managed to lift her spirits quite a bit, she still felt self-conscious. As Gobber ruffled her hair and moved to follow Stoick to the back of the ship, she let out a small sigh and sat down, ignoring the mild pain in her hip.

Closing her eyes, she started to focus on the sounds of the waves lapping against the hull, the wind in the sail, and the creaking of the ship. Far above them, gulls squawked as they soared through the sky and the familiar feeling of calm began to wash over her. Something felt off, though; though she felt at peace, she couldn’t help but feel like something was staring at her.

Thora opened an eye only to find Toothless staring at her. She gave him a pitying smile.

“I’m sorry they’ve got ya chained like that,” she whispered. His ear –at least, she thought it was his ear- twitched as she spoke and she knew he could hear her. “I wish I could help ya, but…” She glanced over at Stoick and Gobber. “Hiccup’s told me ‘bout ya.”

Toothless seemed to perk, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

“He’s really fond o’ ya,” she continued. “Pretty sure he considers ya his best friend now.” She let out a quiet laugh. “Funny, because I thought _I_ was his best friend. But I suppose it’s a bit hard t’ compete with a Night Fury.”

What looked like amusement filled his eyes.

“By the way…about earlier: I know it was an accident. Ya didn’t know who I was at the time other than some big oaf with a tail.” She fell quietly, pretending to meditate as a pair of warriors drew near. They soon left again, having grabbed some shields to inspect. A sigh left her mouth as she leaned back against the wood of the ship. “I will say ya had me pretty scared, but I would imagine it’s nothin’ like what you’re feelin’ now.”

Toothless’ ears lowered and he looked down at the deck, letting his head slump slightly.

“Things will get better,” she sighed, staring out towards the horizon. “I mean, they certainly can’t get much worse…”

  
 

Nearly two hours later found them approaching the seemingly impenetrable wall of smoke and fog that was Helheim’s Gate. Normally, the air grew colder when fog rolled in, but as the ship sailed into the cloud, it became warm and humid. Despite the temperature change, Stoick stood at the helm, his eyes focused on Toothless as he waited for the dragon to make any sign of movement.

Thora let out a quiet sigh as she stood next to her father. “How is he sure Toothless will know how t’ get t’ the island?” she quietly asked him.

He shrugged. “No idea, to be honest. I guess Stoick will know when it happens.”

Her skin paled as they drifted by a wrecked ship. It was dangling from a sea stack far above the water. “So long as we don’t end up like that ship…”

“Huh. Was wonderin’ where that went…”

A soft buzzing noise, almost like a fly, filled her ears and she scrunched her nose up. She swatted near her ears with her tail, thinking one of the bugs had somehow gotten near her. The noise persisted, though, but it never got any louder.

The ship suddenly listed to port, nearly sending Gobber and Thora overboard. Luckily, they were able to regain their balance. Turning, Gobber could see Toothless staring skyward. As he turned his head to the right, so, too, did the ship.

“Guess we know how Stoick’s goin’ t’ find the island,” Gobber muttered under his breath. He cursed as the ship was sharply turned yet again; this time he held onto the rail in order to keep himself steady.

The path through the sea stacks was full of twists and turns. Despite that, only a short amount of time had passed before their boats slid up onto a long, pebbled beach. The smog that had hidden their path was now gone, allowing the Vikings to see that they had landed at the base of an enormous volcano. The sides were sheer, allowing for rivers of lava to ooze their way down the rock and into the waters surrounding the island.

The buzzing in Thora’s ears continued, though it remained soft.

She hopped out of the ship, staying close to Gobber and Stoick. All around them, Vikings were filling the beach as more and more ships slid ashore. When there was no room left for a ship to come aground, boards were placed between vessels, making a sort of bridge for the stragglers in the back. Many of the Vikings began bringing catapults ashore or sharpening the ends of logs, though a few gathered around Stoick to learn of the plan.

“Aim for the middle o’ the cliff,” he told them, using a sword to draw on the ground. “The combined force of all the catapults should be enough. Then, I want everyone t’ get their weapons at the ready. When we crack this mountain open, all Hel is goin’ t’ break loose.”

“In my undies,” Gobber chirped, not caring about the disgusted looks the other gave him. “Good thing I brought extras.”

Staring at her dad in a mixture of embarrassment and disgust, Thora failed to notice the woman approaching her. She jumped, not having expected the hand that was set on her shoulder.

“C’mon, lass,” said Ylva. “Us healers don’t risk stayin’ in the front lines. We stick t’ the back.” She started to lead the teen away from the group of warriors.

“But…” She glanced over her shoulder, at her father and uncle.

“It’s because we don’t want t’ risk gettin’ ourselves hurt before we can tend t’ the others,” she explained. She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “What sort o’ supplies did you bring?”

Thora unconsciously grabbed the cover of her satchel. “I’ve got some raw lavender an’ chamomile as well as burn ointment an’ some general wound salve…But not much o’ it. I didn’t have time t’ run t’ Gothi’s t’ get more.”

“With Odin’s luck, we won’t have need for much.” She sighed and kneeled down beside her own bag, beginning to unpack it. “I’ve got bandages and burn ointment as well –figured we’d need the most o’ those, what with this bein’ a dragon’s nest- but I’ve also got some powdered yarrow, powdered birch bark, an’ some nightshade.”

Thora’s eyes shot open. “Nightshade? As in _Deadly_ Nightshade?”

Nodding, Ylva pulled a few jars out of her pack, lining them up. “Aye, the very one. When it’s highly diluted, it works well for a painkiller.” She glanced over her shoulder at the warriors as they continued their preparations before chuckling. “Gothi probably hasn’t told ya this, but a lot o’ these big, tough Viking men become total babes when their wounds are healing.”

“That I believe. I’ve seen my da’ sick an’ he does nothin’ but whine the whole time.” She took a few rolls of bandages as Ylva offered them to her. “Uncle Stoick, not so much, but Odin’s beard, da’ just won’t shush.”

Her words made Ylva laugh. “That I do not doubt. Luckily, Bucket doesn’t complain much when he’s ill, but Æsir help us if a storm’s comin’.” She sorted through the jars before picking up two of them, also handing them to Thora. “Powdered yarrow in the green; nightshade in the black. On bad wounds, dip your finger in the nightshade mixture before lightly dabbing it over the injury.”

Nodding in understanding, Thora added them to her bag. “An’ I know what t’ do with the yarrow,” she spoke before Ylva. She jumped as the nearest catapult was suddenly released.

Spinning around, she watched as the rest joined suit. One by one, a score of massive boulders were flung into the wall of the volcano. With each hit, a new crack was created until the wall crumbled into a pile at the volcano’s base.

The buzzing in Thora’s ears suddenly stopped.

Stoick climbed up to the hole before motioning to the only catapult that hadn’t yet fired. Its load was lit on fire before it was sent flying through the air and over Stoick’s head. As it fell ever downward, Stoick saw hundreds upon hundreds of dragons filling the cavern.

He let out a mighty roar and charged forward as the dragons took flight. On the beach, the Vikings attempted to reach the dragons with their weapons, but failed miserably as their enemy simply flew out of reach. Victorious shouts filled the air, the warriors believing they had vanquished the dragons once and for all.

But the worst was yet to come.

Realizing that the dragons weren’t flying away in fear of _them_ , Stoick frowned and turned towards the cheering army. “This isn’t over!” he shouted. “Form your ranks an’ stay together!”

Something enormous thundered from deep within the chamber and his eyes widened in fear; whatever it was had been large enough to blast him with its hot breath. He heard someone yell at him, but he didn’t know who. He only knew he had to get out of there and, so, he ran.

“Get clear!” he shouted, hearing the mountain behind him crumble as it was torn asunder.

Panicked cries filled his ears as a positively gigantic dragon clawed its way out of the mountain.

“Beard of Thor!” Gobber cried, eyes wide. “What is THAT!?”

“Odin help us,” Stoick mumbled, now knowing his son had been right. “Catapults!”

Those Vikings manning the catapults fired their weapons, but the stones did little more than annoy the beast. It reached down and snatched up one of the catapults in its mouth, easily crushing the device in its jaws. Then, spotting the ships grounded on its shore, it breathed its fire. Back and forth it shook its head, destroying as much as it could.

“Oh gods, help us,” Thora mumbled, watching as the dragon wreaked havoc. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look away, knowing she had to find and help anyone that was injured.

As Stoick called for the warriors to head to the far side of the island, she found her first group of injured Vikings. Most of them had burns covering their arms and faces, though one had a large gash across his chest while another had a broken leg. The burns she was able to tend to with ease –they were relatively minor given the situation- but the other two were more difficult.

She sprinkled the powdered yarrow over the gash, letting it staunch the blood flow before putting a light coating of the wound salve over it. “How do ya feel?” she questioned, beginning to bandage his chest.

“It just hurts,” he grunted in reply. “Stings like Thor’s lightning, but nothin’ too bad.”

“Good –means ya can help Sven here when I’m done with him.” She turned to the other warrior, who, save for a rather impressive mustache, was entirely bald. He said nothing as she covered a burn on his arm in ointment, but winced and hissed in pain as she felt along his leg for the source of the break.

It was as she found the break in the bone that she realized Gothi hadn’t yet taught her how to set bones.

‘Oh gods, what do I do?’ she thought, eyes wide. ‘Oh gods…uh…Splint! I need to splint it.’ She looked around for anything that could be used as a splint.

“Hand me your spear!” she ordered the Viking with the chest wound.

He did as instructed only to let out a curse of anger when she broke it in half over her knee. “What’re you doin’!?” he snapped. “That was a perfectly good spear!”

“Puttin’ it t’ better use by makin’ a splint,” she bit back. Placing the spear halves on either side of Sven’s legs, she pulled out another roll of bandages. “This is goin’ t’ hurt, Sven, an’ I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

Sven said nothing, only cringing as she bound the spear to his leg.

“Help him get t’ the other side o’ the island,” she instructed the other Viking when she finished. Before he had the chance to respond, she darted off.

‘I hope I did that right,’ she thought, rushing over to a woman. She had gotten pinned beneath a mast from one of the ships the dragon had smashed. Thankfully, she hadn’t been hurt –just trapped; with their combined efforts, they were able to lift the mast off of her. The woman thanked her and ran off.

Turning, Thora looked towards the ships for any injured persons. Instead, she froze in horror.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered. “No…no, no, no…oh gods…”

Four bodies were washed up on the shore. One body was burnt beyond recognition; another was also burnt, but she knew him to be Scornlout Jorgenson, uncle of Snotlout. Though half his face was charred, his eyes stared skyward in fear, as if begging someone to help him. The other two bodies also had burns, though not nearly as bad. The skull of one –Gerta Swansong, one of Stoick’s generals- had been smashed in. The fourth body, however, looked entirely unhurt.

Thora had seen death before, but it had never been like this. Old age or illness had been the ones to claim the deceased. Her stomach churned at the sight and she almost threw up, but, with great effort, she was able to keep the contents of her stomach down.

Unsteadily, she forced herself forward. Kneeling beside the unhurt Viking –she recognized him as Beorn Ingerman, Fishlegs’ older brother- she pressed her head against his chest, listening for a heartbeat. There was a faint thumping within his chest, but he wasn’t breathing. Judging by how much more wet he was compared to the other three, Thora knew he had drowned.

Gothi hadn’t taught her what to do for a drowning victim, but she recalled a time when she, Hiccup, and another boy –Dagur, the son of the Berserker chieftain- had been swimming. Dagur had nearly drowned Hiccup, but Stoick had managed to revive him by pressing on his chest and forcing air into his lungs.

“Please work…” Thora mumbled, tearing the scale-mail tunic off of Beorn. She started to push down on the middle of Beorn’s chest, feeling his body twitch as she did so. After about five pushes, she stopped and, pinching his nose, breathed into his mouth. This she did three more times, eventually feeling his sternum break under the constant pressure she was applying.

“C’mon, work,” she quietly begged, starting to push on his chest for a fourth time. “Work, gods damn it! Please!”

She was about to breathe into his mouth when Beorn started coughing. Her eyes widening, she rolled him onto his side, not caring when he threw up a mixture of bile and seawater onto her lap. Thanking the gods, she reached around and rubbed Beorn on the back, doing her best to ease him as he continued to throw up.

When he finally finished puking and had caught his breath, he looked at her in amazement. “Y…you saved me,” he gawked.

“A-aye?” Her brows furrowed slightly.

He shook his head, his eyes clenched shut as he hit his forehead. “Oh gods, forgive me. I was so stupid! Thora, I’m sorry –I know ya could hear us earlier an’ I’m so sorry. I was scared an’ upset when I was sayin’ those things. I swear, if I could take ‘em all back, I would-”

“Wait, what?” She tilted her head slightly, confused. “What are ya— _Oh_.”

He was one of the owners of the whispers.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, pure sincerity in his eyes. “I swear t’ Odin that I’ll never speak ill o’ you again, an’ if I hear someone speakin’ bad o’ you-”

She silenced him with her tail. “Now’s not the time. Can ya walk?”

He nodded.

“Then I want ya t’ go t’ the other side o’ the island.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dragon just in time to see it snatch up a man in its teeth. She cringed. “It’s safer there than it is here.”

Again, he nodded and she unwrapped her tail from his face. As he ran off, she was met by the sight of the charred bodies once more. This time, she did throw up.

“Look at us! We’re on dragons! _We’re on DRAGONS!_ ”

Her brows furrowing, Thora looked up in time to see the teen recruits flying overhead. “Odin’s undies…” she mumbled, eyes widening as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

A grin slowly spread across her face and she stood up, watching as Hiccup gave orders from the back of a Deadly Nadder driven by Astrid. The twins, of course, were riding on the necks of a Hideous Zippleback while Fishlegs hovered on the Gronckle. Snotlout was on the Monstrous Nightmare, who seemed to have recovered nicely from the battle earlier that day. The group flew apart, Astrid flying Hiccup over the burning ships while Snotlout and Fishlegs flew to either side of the giant dragon’s head.

“Troll!” Tuffnut shouted as he and Ruffnut circled around its face.

“Butt-elf!” Ruffnut cackled.

“Bride of Grendel!” Tuffnut threw one last insult as they flew out of range.

“Thora! Over here!”

She pulled her gaze away from the flying teens and looked around. She saw Ylva waving at her from the far end of the beach and she started running towards her. Someone was lying on the ground –who, she couldn’t yet tell- and she could hear them groaning in pain. Drawing nearer, Thora could see Ylva’s hands covered in blood as she worked to repair whatever damage was on the Viking.

“Mildew’s daughter, Linnea,” Ylva explained as Thora slid to her knees beside them. “She got hit with tons o’ splinters when that monster smashed one o’ the ships an’ they’ve all but ripped her apart. I need your help removin’ all the splinters an’ tryin’ t’ get her patched up.”

Thora felt her stomach churn again; Linnea’s entire body was covered in jagged, messy gashes. Some were minor, being only skin-deep, but others had literally gouged open parts of her body, allowing Thora to see her bones.

“I-I’ll do my best,” Thora murmured, starting to look over Linnea’s legs. She found herself continuously swallowing in her efforts to keep herself from throwing up, but it was barely working. ‘What I wouldn’t give for some ginger right now…’ she thought.

“Just use yarrow on the minor cuts,” Ylva told her after some minutes. “Save the bandages for the big wounds. We can sew ‘em up later.”

“I-it’s useless,” Linnea murmured. “There’re too many o’ them…y’know I’m just goin’ bleed out soon. Just give me a quicker death an’ slit my throat…”

“Not on our watch,” Thora heard herself say. Biting her tongue, she pulled a large splinter from Linnea’s thigh and tossed it over her shoulder. She didn’t want to admit it, but Linnea was right: She had far too many wounds on her body and, with most of them requiring stitches, she would most likely die. ‘But we’re healers,’ she thought, holding the thigh wound shut with her tail as she wrapped a bandage around it. ‘It’s our job to keep the Valkyries away until another day…’

As she reached inside her bag for her wound salve, she paused. ‘If I can use my magic to bring plants back to life…’

“Ylva, I’m goin’ t’ try something. It may not work, but…let’s hope it does.”

Ylva cocked a brow as she stole a quick glance at the teen. “What’re you goin’ t’ do?”

“If it works, you’ll see.” Closing her eyes, Thora placed her hands over the largest of Linnea’s exposed wounds.

“Holdin’ it shut isn’t goin’ t’ stop the blood from flowin’,” murmured Linnea. With her eyes clenched shut in pain, she didn’t see the faint light glowing beneath Thora’s palms, nor the sweat gathering on her brow. She did, however, feel an odd coolness on her stomach.

Pulling back her hands, Thora found the wound still there, but not nearly as deep as before. “Not what I was hopin’ for, but good enough,” she panted.

Ylva gave her a tired grin. “The gods are on our side today,” she told her. “Can ya do that again?”

Nodding, Thora began working to partially heal Linnea’s worst gashes, whether they had been bandaged already or not. As she did her magic, Ylva did the rest –cleaning, medicating, and binding. Though it took some time and Linnea eventually fell unconscious, the two of them managed to stabilize her.

Breathing hard and her body drenched in sweat, Thora let herself fall backwards. As she looked towards the sky, she could see the silhouette of the enemy dragon in the clouds above the sea. Then the sound of thunder filled her ears and she cringed, but knew Hiccup and Toothless were doing their best to fight the creature.

“Help me make a sledge for her,” Ylva spoke, drawing Thora back to Midgard.

Nodding, Thora shakily got to her feet and went over to a line of sharpened posts. Grabbing as many as she could carry, she brought them back over to Ylva and Linnea. With no rope in sigh, she pulled off her apron dress and began to tear it into long strips. Ylva didn’t argue against this, though she didn’t seem pleased by her actions.

Soon, the two women had Linnea strapped to the makeshift sledge –and just in time. Ylva let out a cry and pointed at the sky behind Thora. Turning, the teen let out a curse as she saw the enemy dragon plummeting towards the earth, its mouth on fire and its wings full of smoldering holes. Hiccup and Toothless were nothing more than mere specks as they flew upwards, trying to get away from the impending chaos.

The dragon crashed into the earth, causing an explosion like they had never seen nor heard before. The impact shook the ground, knocking anyone within a quarter mile off their feet. Smoke and ash filled the air around the island, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards ahead.

With everything hidden from view, time seemed to stop.

Her ears rang.

Thora didn’t know how long she had lain on the ground, coughing thanks to the smoke, when Ruffnut and Tuffnut found her. As they hoisted her to her feet and started to drag her off, she could see their mouths moving, but she could only hear the ringing. She tried to tell them she couldn’t hear them, that they needed to speak up, but they weren’t listening.

They pulled her through a crowd comprised of Vikings and of dragons. Thora smacked the side of her head as she walked, trying to restore her hearing, but it was to no avail. The twins continued talking to her as they stopped at the front of the crowd and they pointed ahead of them. Looking in the direction, Thora could see Toothless lying on his side, Stoick kneeling before him and Gobber standing beside him. Her eyes widened in horror when she realized that her uncle was cradling Hiccup’s seemingly lifeless body.

Crying out, she pulled away from the twins and scrambled towards her family. Gobber grabbed her before she could get to Stoick and Hiccup, however. Like the twins, he tried to talk to her so that he could let her know Hiccup wasn’t dead –just in need of medical help- but Thora argued against him, telling him she couldn’t hear him and demanding to see her cousin.

Gobber shook his head and, keeping a firm grip on Thora, wrote in the dirt. ‘He’s alive,’ he scratched out, ‘but his leg needs tending.’

Calming down as she read the message, Thora nodded in understanding. Before Gobber let her go, however, he wrote her a question.

‘Why can’t you hear me?’

“I don’t know; I think the explosion was too loud,” she replied –at least, she hoped that’s what she said. As she pulled away from Gobber, she didn’t see the worry that came to his face.

As she knelt beside Stoick, he moved his arm, letting her see Hiccup’s wound. She was positive she let out a curse at the sight: From the middle of his calf down, his leg was missing. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be bleeding much, as most of the wound had been burnt shut.

Her hands badly shaking, she pulled out her burn ointment and slathered his leg in what little remained of the stuff. Using the last of her bandages, she wrapped the wound as best she could before gently setting her hand over the stump and closing her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

When Thora opened her eyes, she saw darkness. Her brows furrowing, she slowly sat up; the darkness suddenly turned into the light of midday as the blanket slid from her face and she groaned, closing her eyes again. Slowly, she opened one of them to find that she was on a makeshift bed, but she wasn’t in her own home. Looking around, she recognized it to be the main hall of Stoick and Hiccup’s home.

And there was a dragon staring at her from the rafters.

“T-Toothless?” she croaked, her voice hoarse. Despite the pain in her throat, she smiled; she could hear again!

The Night Fury easily hopped down from his spot, cautiously walking over to her. Everything that had happened flooded back into her mind and she let out a soft curse, flopping backwards. She tried to run her hands through her hair, but it was still braided –and then she looked at her hands in a panic, hoping they weren’t still covered in blood. Thankfully, it seemed someone had washed her as well as put her in some clean clothes while she had slept.

Toothless leaned over her, his head tilted curiously as he stared at her.

“Y-you saved my cousin,” she whispered, not wanting to agitate her throat. “An’ my people. Thank you.”

He made a sort of purring noise as she spoke and he opened his mouth, smiling.

Sitting up again, she slowly held her hand out towards him. He sniffed it before pressing his nose into her palm, bringing a smile to her lips. “Hiccup’s right –you _are_ warm.”

A deep, throaty noise left his mouth before he turned and looked near the fire. It was then Thora saw the bed set up close to the hearth and the small, teen boy laying in it. Shakily, she got to her feet and made her way towards him; her limbs still felt incredibly heavy and her vision swam a bit, but that was no concern to her.

Before she went to look over Hiccup, however, she found a cup of water on the floor near the bed. She drank the entirety of its contents, letting out a sigh of relief. At first, the water hurt as it slid down her throat, but the pain soon vanished. She then turned her attention back to her cousin.

Hiccup, she found, was sleeping rather deeply. Pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, she discovered he lacked a fever, letting her know that his leg hadn’t become infected. She carefully pulled back the covers near his feet, not wanting to wake him, only to find that a prosthetic was already covering the stump. She frowned; there was no way his leg was ready for such a thing…

Toothless came over and gently nudged Hiccup’s face with his nose as Thora inspected him. When Hiccup merely grunted in his sleep, the dragon continued to lightly butt his rider, making Hiccup groan in protest once more. He finally managed to wake the boy up by lightly stepping on his gut, causing Hiccup to bolt upright.

“Ow, ow –hey, Toothless,” he chuckled, giving the dragon a good scratch behind the ears. He then paused. “Er…you’re in my house… _You’re_ in _my_ house…”

“Aye, he is.”

Leaning over, he caught sight of Thora resting against the footboard. He smiled awkwardly, giving her a small wave. “Does…does my dad know he’s in here?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Just woke up myself.”

He frowned. “Did you get hurt?”

“No. At least, I don’t think I did.” Biting her tongue, she glanced away from him. “But…ah…Hiccup…”

The frown remaining in place, Hiccup gently pushed Toothless off the bed. “What is it?”

“You…” She sighed before simply tossing the blanket aside, revealing his new leg.

His eyes widened as shock filled him. For many minutes, he merely stared at the wood-and-metal contraption, twisting his leg side to side to get a better look at it. Slowly, he shifted his position and threw his legs over the side of the bed, letting the fake leg come to rest beside his uninjured leg. He looked up at Toothless, whose eyes were sad and apologetic.

All three of them knew it had been Toothless who had taken the leg, but they all three knew it was a small price to pay for Hiccup’s life.

“There was nothin’ I could do,” Thora quietly told him, “other than put medicine on it an’ try my magic, but t’ be honest, I passed out in the middle o’ it. I’m not sure how healed it is –I wasn’t about t’ take the fake leg off t’ check out o’ fear o’ wakin’ you.”

“You did the best you could,” he told her, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

She gave him a small, tired smile. “Well, I wasn’t ‘bout t’ let my cousin go t’ Valhalla without me,” she joked.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Valhalla? What makes you think I’d end up there?”

“Well, let’s see…you fought a stupidly large dragon an’ won, ya lost your leg in battle –should I continue?”

Rolling his eyes, he gave her a playful shove. “I think I’d end up in Fólkvangr, myself.” He then rose to his feet, wobbling slightly as he tried to get used to his new ‘foot’.

“Careful,” Thora warned as he stumbled forward.

Thankfully, Toothless was there to catch him.

“This is going to take a bit of getting used to,” he sighed as she came over. With help from Toothless and his cousin, he was able to make it halfway to the door before he gently urged them away from him. Wobbling slightly, he managed to walk to the entryway, unaided. As he opened the door, he was met by the sight of a Monstrous Nightmare flying only yards away.

He slammed the door shut, eyes wide.

“What? What was it?” Thora questioned, frowning. He had moved too fast for her to have seen the dragon.

Hiccup turned, pointing at the two of them. “Toothless, Thora –stay here,” he ordered, not explaining to them why.

As he left the house, Thora and Toothless looked at one another. “Like we’re goin’ t’ listen,” chuckled Thora.

Following after the lad, they went outside. Thora gasped; the village was filled with dragons. Sitting atop houses, flying through the air, even playfully chasing after children in the streets –they were _everywhere!_ To top it all off, the enormous, metal torches had been emptied of tar and oil and were instead filled to the brim with all sorts of fish for the dragons.

“Yep, I’m dead,” Hiccup gawked.

“No, but you gave it your best shot.” Stoick came around the corner of the house and clapped his son on the shoulder before leading him down the stairs a short ways.

Thora smiled, relief washing over her as she watched the two. A crowd came to gather around the father and son, most of the Vikings wanting to congratulate Hiccup on his victory and speedy recovery. She stayed towards the back of the group, listening in as Stoick proclaimed that they were now at peace with the dragons.

Then, as Astrid came over and planted a kiss on Hiccup, she let out a teasing cheer, seeing her cousin’s cheeks grow red. Finally, Gobber presented Hiccup with a new saddle and tail fin for Toothless before ushering him and Astrid to go join the other teens for some flying time.

As the crowd dispersed, she went over to Stoick and Gobber. Seeing that his daughter was up and about, Gobber gave her a big hug, lifting her off the ground as he squeezed her. She laughed, despite wincing slightly in pain; he had managed to realign her back.

“Glad t’ see you up as well,” Stoick smiled, also giving her a hug –this one much gentler than Gobber’s. “If it weren’t for you, Hiccup would still be layin’ in that bed o’ his.”

She cocked her head. “What? I only bandaged him.”

Stoick shook his head. “You did some sort o’ magic t’ his leg, too, though ya fell unconscious during it.  By the time we got ya both back here t’ Berk, his leg was almost entirely healed. Gothi handled the rest, which wasn’t much.”

“Did she fix my hearin’, too?” she questioned.

“No,” Gobber replied. “I told her ‘bout it, but she said only time would be able to fix your ears –that is, if they _could_ be fixed. Thank Odin, it seems it was just temporary. However!” He then waved a scolding finger at her. “She’s none too happy with how hard ya pushed yourself an’ told me t’ warn ya that when your lessons start up again, you should expect a nice, long lecture from her.”

“Lovely…” she mumbled, cringing at the thought. She knew that she would, no doubt, be thwacked a couple of times as well. “I’ll, ah, be lookin’ forward t’ it.”

Stoick quietly chuckled, shaking his head again. “Don’t take it too much t’ heart, Thora. Because o’ you an’ Ylva, we didn’t lose more than twenty warriors. That’s an incredibly small number compared to the destruction that took place.” He patted her on the back. “I’m proud o’ you.”

Thora felt her cheeks flush at his words, but she smiled. “Thank ya, Uncle.”

“But I’m even more proud,” Gobber grinned, suddenly ruffling her hair and earning giggle-filled protests. “Seems like I’ve raised a good one, eh, Stoick?”

He laughed, giving Gobber a playful punch to the shoulder. “I’d say we _both_ raised good ones.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning for ya'll: There is talk about menstruation as well as a somewhat graphic flashback/memory Thora has. Other than that, it's a fairly mild chapter. Hope ya'll enjoy and, if you do, please leave a comment~

‘I suppose Gobber gave you my warning?’

“Aye.”

Gothi watched as the girl unslung her bag and hung it on a hook near the door. Thora didn’t meet her gaze as she pulled the unused cauldron over to the hearth. Sitting down, she let out a quiet sigh, checking to see if Gothi had written anything else.

Instead, she flinched and instinctively covered her head as Gothi moved her staff, but it never met her skull. She cracked open an eye, looking at the woman only to find her writing. Another sigh left her mouth; this one of relief.

‘I am disappointed in you, and I am sure you know of this.’ When Thora nodded, she continued. ‘Using so much magic when you are untrained was a dangerous thing to do, especially when we do not know how prolonged magic use affects you just yet. If something had gone wrong, you could have easily killed one of the people you meant to help –including Hiccup.’

Biting her tongue, Thora looked away, but said nothing.

‘I know you were trying to help. Thank Odin and Freya, you did help. But I do not want you to do something so risky again. Not until you are better trained.’ She glanced over at the girl, waiting until she was finished reading before erasing her previous words with her foot. ‘But what I have to say to you today is not all bad.’

Thora seemed to perk ever so slightly. “It’s…not?”

Gothi nodded. ‘I am also proud of you. Ylva told me you did rather well for working in your first battle. I know it was not the most pleasant of experiences-’

Thora shuddered. “Not in the least,” she murmured.

‘-but I can only promise that what you saw that day will only be worse in the future, should Berk find itself at war again.’

She groaned. “Lovely…”

Brow rising, Gothi hoarsely chuckled. ‘The more you continue to heal people outside of battle, the easier it will become to heal during battle. You will grow used to seeing blood and torn flesh, as well as other such gore.’

“ _You_ think I will, but I doubt it.” She shuddered again. “Been havin’ nightmares all week thanks t’ what I saw…”

Gothi frowned. ‘Have you?’

“Aye. An’ they’re none-too pleasant, since they’re filled with charred faces an’ missin’ limbs…” She scrunched her nose up at the memory before glancing up at Gothi. “Did ya ever get nightmares?”

She nodded slowly. ‘I still do, at times,’ she admitted, ‘but I never said this would be an easy life. Tending to the wounded can be the easiest part. The hardest part is when we are forced to accept that, sometimes, our efforts will be useless. We simply must remember that death will claim us all one day –but when that day is, we will never know.’

Thora said nothing, but nodded in understanding. ‘Not very comforting,’ she thought, ‘but it is the truth, even if I don’t want to think it is…’

Erasing her words yet again, Gothi continued to write. ‘Now, on the subject of your magic. I have done some thinking over the last week and I have realized that, while I am teaching you the human way to use magic, you should also learn the troll way.’

“How? There’re no trolls for hundreds o’ miles!”

‘When Trader Johann next visits Berk, I will be sending a letter to your mother.’

Her eyes widened. “M-my mother?” she repeated, gawking.

Gothi nodded. ‘Who else would be better for the job?’ she wrote. ‘She was a powerful magic user and, now that you are grown, I would like to see if she would be willing to teach you or, if she is unable to or unwilling, if she could tell us someone who could.’

Thora rubbed the back of her neck. “An’ what if she doesn’t respond at all? Or doesn’t know anyone who’d want t’ train some stranger’s half-troll teenager?”

‘Then nothing will happen. I will simply continue teaching you as I have been.’ Her brow rose again. ‘What did you think would happen? I would cease your lessons?’

She shrugged. “Maybe? Not sure, t’ be honest. I just…Well, my mum knows nothin’ ‘bout me, other than the fact that I exist. Don’t ya think it’d be a wee bit jarring t’ suddenly get a letter askin’ her t’ train her long-abandoned daughter in magic?”

Gothi gave her a dry look. ‘Well, then, do you have any better ideas we should try?’ she questioned. The mixture of her writing and the look on her face let Thora know she was not very happy at the moment.

“N-no, sorry,” she murmured, cheeks reddening as she looked away. “I’ll shut up now.” She peeked back when she heard Gothi writing more.

‘As I said, I am going to write your mother and, when I get a response, we will figure things out from there -depending on her reply. I have already discussed this with your father, so he is not unaware of my plans. Now.’ She paused for a moment, resting her hands. ‘Today will be easy enough for you. I want you to go Death’s Head Headland and fetch me some bones.’

She frowned; Death’s Head Headland was where the Hairy Hooligans would discard the carcasses of the dragons they had killed in the past. “Bones? For what?”

‘You will see in the coming days. I will need a fair few of them, mind you. After you collect them, I want you to take them to your father so that he can grind them into powder for me.’

“Alright…how many bones d’ ya need?”

Gothi leaned over, picking up a sack and handing it to Thora, who unfolded it. It was a very large bag, nearly big enough for Thora to fit into.

‘The best bones to get are those that are unbroken with no cracks or splinters and those that have been bleached by the sun,’ Gothi continued. ‘If you are able, collect a few teeth as well –those needn’t be grinded down.’

Thora nodded as she folded the bag back up. “Alright, though ya realize it will take me most o’ the day t’ do this, aye?”

‘Which is why there is nothing-’

There was suddenly a knock on the door, startling the old woman. Rising to her feet, Thora went over and opened the door to find Tuffnut standing on the other side, his right eye bruised and half-shut due to swelling.

“Eesh. Fight with Ruff again?” she questioned with a frown.

“No. Made the mistake of tryin’ to fight with her,” he replied, his voice full of bitterness. “She sent me here, though. Says she needs some herbs or tea mixtures because it’s her ‘time of the month’ –whatever that is.”

“Ahh,” Thora chuckled, now knowing why he had the black eye. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as Gothi nodded and motioned for her to let him in. She stepped aside and Tuffnut entered the hut. “Well, I’m sure Gothi’s got some things that’ll help her –those are some o’ the herbs we always have on hand.”

He cocked his brow as Thora went over to one shelf while Gothi went to another. “How do you know what she needs, though?”

“Because we get this request nearly every other week?” Thora had to stand on her tiptoes in order to reach one of the jars. “I’ve got the herbs for this memorized already.”

Tuffnut gave her a blank look. “Huh?”

Thora tilted her head as she went back over to him, opening the jar. “…Tuffnut…Do ya _not_ know what a woman’s time o’ the month is?”

He shrugged. “Whatever is it, I just know that Ruffnut gets meaner than normal during it and she doesn’t really leave her bed for a few days.”

Thora heard Gothi smack her head and sigh, earning a chuckle from the teen girl. “This may sting a bit,” she warned Tuffnut before gently using her finger to apply some salve to the bruise around his eye.

“This stuff stinks worse than a yak pie,” he mumbled, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “What’s in it?” He tried to lean away from Thora to avoid getting it on his skin, but she used her tail to hold him in place.

“Oh, the usual…lavender oil, witch hazel, cabbage, an’ parsley.”

A look of utter disgust came to his face. “Ugh! No wonder it smells bad!” He badly wanted to wipe it off, but knew better –especially with Gothi within sight.

“Aye, but your bruise will be gone a lot faster.” She turned as Gothi tapped her on the shoulder with her staff.

Tuffnut watched as Gothi scribbled on the ground, but didn’t bother to read it and instead went over to the table. Picking up a cup, he inspected its contents before smelling it; he nearly sneezed at the intense floral scent. He set it back down before plucking up a box and opening it.

“Really?” he heard Thora question. “But explainin’ it t’ my da’ was bad enough! Havin’ t’ explain it t’ one o’ my friends…”

He didn’t know what Gothi wrote in reply, but he now knew the box contained various shapes and sizes of uncut precious stones. His eyes widened as he picked out a moonstone the size of his palm.

‘This must have cost a fortune,’ he thought, holding it up to the light.

“Tuffnut?” Thora sighed.

He put the stone away and set the box down before spinning around, trying to seem innocent. “What? I didn’t touch anything.”

Her brow rose; the look on her face let him know she had caught him. “Sure ya didn’t,” she retorted. “Anyway, Gothi says I get t’ explain t’ ya what a woman’s ‘time o’ the month’ is.”

“Oh, great. I’ll finally know why Ruffnut tries to kill me more than usual and then I can repay the meanness with double meanness!” His tone and expression were full of sarcasm.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Thora glanced away. “Er…Maybe you’ll feel different after I tell ya what she’s goin’ through.”

His brow rose. “Doubt it.” He plopped down on the cauldron, leaving Thora to clear a space off on the table before sitting.

Biting her tongue, Thora avoided eye contact with her friend. “So…Ya know how women have children an’ all that lovely stuff, aye?”

“Of course,” he snickered. “Mom had to tell us about that after we walked in on-”

“I ah, don’t need to know,” she cringed. “Anyway…When a woman comes o’ age t’ start bearing children, sometimes, er…her body, ah…Ugh.” She rubbed her face, feeling her cheeks redden in embarrassment. “Once in a while, a woman bleeds from her womanhood for up t’ a week.”

Tuffnut stared at her, his brows furrowed and his jaw slightly slack.

Finding bluntness to be the best method of explanation, Thora continued, though she avoided making eye contact with him. “We don’t really know _why_ it happens, but it does. I’ve heard all sorts o’ reasons from a body purgin’ toxins from itself t’ the gods punishin’ the woman for not bein’ pregnant t’ even somethin’ as silly as the body gettin’ rid o’ excess blood.”

Tuffnut remained silent, his jaw now entirely slack and his skin a shade lighter.

“Mhm. Lots o’ fun it is, especially since it leaves most women in severe pain –which, from the sounds o’ it, Ruffnut’s sufferin’ from. Sometimes, though, the pain can be mild.” She pushed some hair out of her face, chuckling when she noticed Tuffnut’s expression. “When a woman gets pregnant, all this stops until her child’s been born an’ has been weened. But, o’ course, it starts back up until either the next pregnancy or the woman hits old age, which comes with its own set o’ problems.”

Tuffnut finally moved; leaning back, he looked down at himself before looking back up at Thora. “Wait…so…” He looked down at himself again. “It’s only woman who get that?”

Thora nodded. “Aye.”

“And they bleed from…” He motioned to her pelvic region.

She felt herself blush a bit more. “Aye.”

“For an entire week… _without_ dying?”

“ _Hopefully_ without dyin’. Gothi’s told me that there have been a few women she’s known who have died, but they also bled for a lot longer than a week.”

“…Dude. How do you _not_ die? Like, I can cut my arm and bleed for a week, and I’d be dead. But a woman bleeds from _there_ and she’s just fine afterwards?”

She shrugged. “Basically.”

He shuddered as the full weight of realization overcame him. “Why did you tell me this?!” he suddenly cried, looking a mixture of afraid and disgusted.

“Ya live with two women; I’m surprised ya didn’t know it already.” She frowned shoving the same bit of hair out of her face as it defiantly slid back over her shoulder. “Well, then again…my da’ knew nothin’ o’ it an’ he had me, so…”

“Yeah, but Gobber’s not into women! It’s alright if he didn’t know before he had a daughter! But now I know and I _didn’t_ want to know.” He pouted.

Gothi wrote something on the ground while chuckling. Getting up, Thora went over and, after silently reading it, also giggled. “She says it’ll come in handy in the future,” she recited for Tuffnut. “That way, if your future wife is too shy t’ say what’s wrong, you’ll know an’ be able t’ get her the herbs she needs.”

Tuffnut merely grumbled under his breath.

Going over to the door, Thora shouldered her bag before putting a bundle of herbs in it. “C’mon, let’s go give Ruff her herbs,” she told the boy. “After that, ya can come with me t’ Death’s Head Headlands.” She also grabbed the folded sack, carefully tucking it in beside the herbs. “That’ll cheer ya up.”

Begrudgingly, he stood up and followed her out of the hut. “Why do you gotta go there?” he questioned.

“Gothi needs dragon bones an’ teeth,” she replied, leading the way down the path. “But I need t’ have da’ powder the bones.”

“Huh. Wonder what she’s goin’ to use them for?” he wondered aloud. He then smirked mischievously. “Hey, we could totally use some dragon bones to make some _awesome_ armor!”

Her brow rose. “Yeah, armor that would scare the crap out o’ the dragons. They’re our friends now, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” he snickered. “I _own_ one. Well, half of one. A head of one? I own Belch.”

“Belch?”

“Yeah! Ruffnut has Barf –he’s the one who shoots the gas- and I have Belch –the one who sparks the gas!” He grinned proudly. “Belch is way cooler than Barf, but they’re both totally better than the other dragons.”

She chuckled. “I’ll withhold judgement until the day I get my own dragon,” she told him. “Though, I doubt that’ll happen.”

He shrugged. “You might. It’s not like the rest of us expected to become friends and riders of dragons.”

“That is true,” she agreed. “Though, ah…I’m thinkin’ I may be a wee bit too _large_ for most o’ the ones ‘round here.”

His brow rose and he glanced up at her. “Uh, Thora? You’re like, half the size of most of the adults and the dragons carried them.”

“Not weight wise,” she laughed. “Height wise.”

“Oh.” He stared up at her, frowning slightly. “Yeah, you did get pretty tall…You were shorter than Hiccup last year…”

She let out a small sigh, glancing skywards. “An’ gods forbid it, I seem t’ be growin’ more. Do ya know how much o’ a pain it is t’ get too tall for your trousers?”

He shrugged, grinning dumbly. “Nope. Mine are hidden.” Holding up his leg, he pointed at his lower legs, which were covered entirely by his leather-and-fur boots.

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a small, playful shove, sending him off balance. “Yeah, lucky you. I outgrew my boots, too.”

“Then why don’t you just have your dad make you some new ones?”

“Eh…I’d rather not have him waste the leather, especially if I am growin’ again.” She pointed at her feet. “These shoes aren’t too bad, though. Aye, they’re not the warmest o’ things, but they’re comfortable an’ they grip a lot better when I’m climbin’ things.”

“You still climb? I thought you gave that up after we got you stuck at the top of a tree?”

She snorted. “You didn’t get _me_ stuck in the tree, Tuff –I got _you_ stuck in the tree.”

“Nuh-uh,” he disagreed. “Me an’ Ruff chased Hiccup up the tree, and then when you went up after him, you got stuck because you couldn’t carry him back down.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed red. “Ya meant _that_ time…”

A triumphant smirk spread across Tuffnut’s face before it quickly faded –they had reached his home. He stood outside the door, quite obviously hesitant to go inside. Glancing over at Thora, he gave her a hopeful look.

“So, ah, yeah. Go right ahead and give Ruff the herbs,” he told her, gesturing at the door.

Reaching into her bag, Thora pulled out the bundle of herbs and handed it out to him. “Go right on ahead,” she chirped. “After all, she asked _you_ t’ get them for her. What would she say if her _loving_ brother didn’t come back with what she requested o’ him, eh?” There was a teasing smirk plastered to her face.

Tuffnut frowned before flipping a crude gesture at her and snatching the herbs from her.

As he went inside, Thora leaned against the wall to wait for him. With a small sigh, she let her head fall back and she closed her eyes, enjoying the bit of warmth the sun gave off. Though, the warmth soon grew too warm, as well as rather humid. It also started smelling quite a bit like a mixture of fish and farts.

Opening her eyes, she let out a small curse as she found four large, yellow-green eyes staring down at her. There stood Barf and Belch –which head was which, she didn’t know- looking her over curiously. Even though the dragons and the Hairy Hooligans were now at peace, Thora had to admit: it was still terrifying to see them up close for the first time.

One of the heads leaned in close to her, sniffing her, while the other lightly butted her shoulder with its horn. Thora let out a squeak and tried to sidestep away, but the one sniffing her suddenly found her tail and, grabbing hold of it with his mouth, tried to tug it away from her.

“Ouch! Ouch, no –that’s mine! Ya can’t have it!” she yelped, pain filling her tail. “See? It’s attached, like yours! Ow!” She cringed, the dragon not wanting to give up its new ‘toy’.

“Barf! Bad dragon!” Tuffnut came out of the house, a bright-red handprint decorating the side of his face. “That’s Thora’s tail. You have your own, see?” He went behind the Zippleback and lightly tugged on its twin tails.

Their eyes widening in amazement, Barf released Thora’s tail as he and Belch twisted round to gaze at their own tails.

“Thanks,” Thora winced, wrapping her tail around her waist before inspecting it. “I see Ruffnut wasn’t very thankful…”

He shrugged. “Eh, she was…Until I said I hope she bleeds out.” He grinned cheekily only to wince as his face stung. “It was worth it.”

Her brow raised, Thora slowly shook her head. “You…are so very weird.”

“Hey now; is that any way to treat someone’s who going to let you ride his dragon?” he pouted, patting Belch on the neck and obtaining the dragon’s attention.

Thora stared at him for a moment. “What?” she finally questioned.

“You think I’m walking all the way to Death’s Head Headland?” he snorted, mounting Belch. “No way! I’m flying. And since Barf and Belch need two riders, you get to steer Barf.”

Barf lowered himself to Thora’s level, but his eyes were focused on the tip of her tail.

“Er…are ya sure that’s a good idea?” she questioned, biting her tongue.

“Uh, yeah? We can land a mile away or something so they won’t get spooked by the bones.”

She glanced at him. “I meant me ridin’ the dragon that just tried t’ pull my tail off.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why not? It’s not like he’d be able to grab it with it around your waist like that.”

Nodding slowly, Thora hesitantly made her way to the side of Barf’s head before throwing her leg over his neck as if he were a yak or a horse. It was somewhat uncomfortable due to the dragon’s hard scales and lack of leg support, but she found some comfort in being able to hold onto Barf’s horns. Though seemingly prepared for flight, she still let out a curse of surprise when the dragon took to the air.

“It’s comfier if you cross your legs,” Tuffnut told her.

She did as instructed, though she said nothing as she watched the village grow smaller and smaller below them. Unconsciously, she unwrapped her tail from her waist and instead, wound it around Barf’s neck –not tightly, of course.

“I’m…actually on a dragon,” she mumbled, eyes wide and skin a shade lighter. “I’m flyin’…on a dragon…”

Tuffnut smirked. “Cool, isn’t it?” he laughed. “Alright, so. Death’s Head Headland. That’s…south?”

“North-east,” she corrected.

“Oh. Right. I knew that.” He grinned sheepishly.

Thora copied Tuffnut’s movements as he lightly tugged Belch’s head in the direction they needed to go. Both heads worked in unison to turn their body around and started to fly towards the northern part of the island. Below them, the land seemed to flow by like a river, only the water was made of trees and cliffs.

“This is so _cool_ ,” she gaped, twisting and turning her head round in order to not miss anything. “Everythin’ looks so small up here! An’ look how fast we’re movin’!” She glanced over at Tuffnut, a large grin on her face. “You are so lucky t’ have a dragon o’ your own!”

He shrugged. “Dude, Berk is full of dragons. You’d have to be Mildew to _not_ find one.”

“Yeah, but most o’ them only seem t’ want my tail. I need t’ find one that _won’t_ use me for a toy.” She reached down, gently patting her tail where Barf had grabbed it. Only a ghost of the pain remained, earning a sigh of relief from her.

“Use it like a lure. Find a dragon you want, lure it in with your tail, then bam! Boop it on the nose and claim it as your own.”

“‘Boop’?” she giggled. “What does ‘boop’ mean?”

“You know. Like bopping, but softer. Like this.” He reached over and, with a surprising amount of gentleness, pressed his palm against her nose before pulling his hand away again. “Boop!”

Thora started laughing even more, to the point where she snorted. “So that’s all it takes t’ train a dragon?”

Tuffnut snickered as she giggle-snorted again. “I don’t know what you find so funny,” he told her. “That’s what Hiccup showed us to do!”

“D’ya have t’ add in the ‘boop’ when ya do it?”

He rolled his eyes, but still grinned. “No. At least, I don’t think you do. Maybe with the Terrible Terrors. They’re small and dumb enough to fall for it.”

Wiping a tear of mirth from her eye, Thora finally managed to calm her laughing. “I don’t know. The one that attacked ya when ya tried comparin’ it t’ the size o’ your-”

“We should probably land here,” he interrupted, his cheeks turning bright red at the memory. He pointed down at an open bit of field encircled by the forest. “It’s about half a mile to the Headlands from there.”

She nodded in agreement. “Sounds good,” she chuckled, knowing why he changed the subject so suddenly. Again, she copied his movements as he tilted Belch’s head downwards. As they sped towards the earth, she was forced to narrow her eyes due to the wind rushing past her face.

As the Hideous Zippleback landed, the two teens were nearly thrown from their necks. Whether it was due to the Zippleback being one of the least graceful dragons known to mankind or because the humans riding them were still amateurs when it came to flying, none of them knew. Regardless, Thora and Tuffnut were able to safely dismount, though Tuffnut did have a bit of a waddle to his stride and a small amount of pain written on his face.

“Today’s just not your day, is it?” Thora questioned, giving him a pitying look.

“I’m fine,” he retorted, scowling. Despite his words, he none-too-subtly adjusted his trousers before attempting to walk normally. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He turned towards Barf and Belch. “Barf, Belch: Stay here. We’ll be back in a while. Don’t fly away, alright?”

“If you say so,” she murmured, watching as the dragon simply flopped on the ground. Both heads rested themselves on the ground and closed their eyes.

As Tuffnut started to walk, she followed after him. “What does your mother think ‘bout you an’ Ruff having a dragon?”

“Eh, she didn’t like it at first,” he admitted, putting his hands on the back of his head. “Thought it was unnatural for us to make peace with the dragons, but she came around when Barf and Belch kept Uncle Bucket from wandering off a few nights ago.”

She cocked her head. “He tried to wander off?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, he gets up in the middle of the night and just wanders off without saying anything. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he does it, sayin’ he was asleep the whole time. But it can take us _hours_ to find him and mom’s always worried he’s gone off a cliff or something else to get himself killed.” He shrugged. “But Barf and Belch stopped him and mom’s been grateful ever since.”

“Well, that’s good. Don’t need more Mildews in the village…”

He snorted. “My mom will _never_ be as bad as Mildew.”

“I don’t think anyone can be as bad as him,” she chuckled.

“What ‘bout Gobber and Stoick? How’re they taking it?”

It was her turn to shrug. “Well enough, it seems. Uncle Stoick is already quite fond o’ Toothless, especially since Toothless is like a giant cat. An’ da’…” She went quiet, frowning slightly.

Tuffnut glanced over at her. “What? He doesn’t like it?”

“It’s not tha’ –he’s glad we’re at peace now. It’s just…Well, I mean, it was his job t’ make weapons.” She kicked at a rock, watching at it bounced and rolled away. “An’ since the armory’s full an’ we’re not bein’ constantly attacked anymore…he’s been feelin’ a wee bit useless lately.”

He cocked his brow. “But…Gobber’s one of the most versatile Vikings on Berk. He can make weapons, he can make shoes, he can teach, and he plays the pan pipes.”

“While all o’ that is true, he lost his pan pipes. An’ how often is it that we need shoes made, especially when Johann brings fancy ones from the Mainland?” She let out a sigh. “And it doesn’t seem we’ll need t’ be taught how t’ fight dragons anymore.”

He shrugged. “He’ll find something. Like I said, he’s versatile. For all we know, your dad could start building new perches for the dragons or something.”

“He could,” she replied, though her tone betrayed her unsureness. Shoving her hair over her shoulder, she let out a small sigh. “How’s Bucket handlin’ it all?” she questioned, wanting to get the subject away from Gobber for now.

“Oh, he’s loving it. There’s a Gronckle that decided to live behind Mulch’s house and he treats her like a giant dog. He named her Sanna.”

She smiled at the thought. “Well, that’s good! I’m glad he’s not scared o’ them, especially since…well, y’know.”

“Pft,” he raspberried. “He’s a Thorston. Even if he’s only got half a brain, it’ll take more than a few dragons to scare him.” He grinned at her before shielding his eyes as they stepped out from under the cover of the trees. “Whoa…”

“Freya’s girdle…” Thora murmured, her eyes widening.

They had stepped into an open field filled with bones. Most of them had been picked clean by scavengers, but some of the carcasses still had bits of rotted flesh hanging off of them. Only a few yards away lay the body of a Deadly Nadder that was still mostly intact, having only been killed in the last dragon attack.

“This is really creepy,” Tuffnut murmured, doing his best to avoid looking at the dragon.

“Let’s try t’ be quick,” Thora mumbled, covering her mouth and nose. “I think I’m goin’ t’ be sick otherwise…”

He nodded, grabbing her arm and leading her into the dragon graveyard. He shuddered as they passed by the long-forgotten skeleton of a juvenile Hideous Zippleback; it was only a quarter of the size of Barf and Belch. Shaking his head, he lead her towards one of the mountains of bones –at least then, there wasn’t a chance of seeing entire skeletons.

Despite how eerie the place was, he couldn’t help but find it rather exciting, as well.

“How many bones does she need?” he asked.

“This bag needs t’ be filled,” she murmured, pulling it from her satchel. She unfolded it, showing Tuffnut its size.

“Well, dragon bones are big, so it shouldn’t be too hard at least?” he suggested, trying to be optimistic.

“Hopefully.” She glanced around at the field, biting her tongue. “Look how many have been killed over the years,” she murmured. “Our graveyard isn’t even half the size o’ this place…”

Reaching the pile, Tuffnut started picking through the bones. “Yeah, but most of our dead get sent out in funeral ships,” he reminded her. “You said Gothi wanted some teeth, too?”

“She said I could collect some if I wanted; didn’t say why, though.” She focused her attention on finding the types of bones the old woman had specified, though she still felt disgusted by it. “No, not that kind –she wants the whites ones, like this.”

“This white enough?” He held up a large bone, but half of it was missing.

“Aye, but whole ones, if possible.”

“Got it.” He disappeared as he went to the other side of the pile, though Thora could still hear him as he mumbled to himself and moved bones around.

‘Go figure, the first time I come to this place, it’s after we’ve made peace with the dragons,’ she thought, tossing an imperfect bone over her shoulder before digging deeper into the pile. ‘I’m pretty sure I’d still be creeped out even if we weren’t, though…’ She shoved a bone into the sack, sighing quietly.

Once in a while, Tuffnut would call over, tossing a bone over the top of the pile to her. Some of them were good finds, though she rejected most of them when she found cracks or stained spots on their surfaces. It was surprisingly hard to find the sorts of bone Gothi had asked for; with Berk lacking sun most of the year, bleached bones were hard to come by, leaving most of the bones yellow with age.

They ended up splitting up, Tuffnut heading west while Thora went east to search out the bodies. More bleached bones were found this way, but it was still a challenge to find ones that were either unmarred or small enough to fit in the bag.

‘Well, here are some teeth,’ she thought, finding the jawbone of a dragon. She wasn’t sure which kind of dragon it came from, but was glad for that. Grabbing one of the bigger teeth and using her feet to anchor the jaw to the ground, she began pulling. The tooth, however, barely budged. Frowning, she adjusted her angle and tried pulling harder, but the tooth still stayed firmly in place. ‘Why aren’t you coming out?’ she thought, unconsciously snarling as she tried a third time. ‘You’re just a tooth! Sure, you shouldn’t come out easily, but you shouldn’t be _this_ hard to remove!’

When her third attempt failed, she grumbled and stood upright. “Whatever,” she muttered. “Didn’t need them anyway.” She blew a raspberry at the jaw before returning to the search for bones.

Soon, her bag was halfway full and she decided it was time to go find Tuffnut to see what he had collected so far. She headed back to the pile where they had split up and called out to him, but go no answer in return. Frowning, she called out again, but still, no reply came.

“He better not have ditched me in this place,” she sighed, moving some of her hair. Her brows furrowed and she flipped her hair back to her front only to find two, small bones tangled up in it. “Oh gods…really? Ya had t’ get _bones_ o’ all things stuck in ya? Honestly, ya really need t’ get some better ideas…” she quietly scolded –not that she expected her hair to listen.

Once her hair was bone-free, she called out for Tuffnut one more time. No reply came and she bit her tongue, nervously beginning to finger-comb her hair.

‘What if he tripped over one of the bones and got impaled on a ribcage?’ she thought. ‘Or maybe he was trying to look through one of the piles and it collapsed on him? No…No, I would have heard either of those. Maybe he’s just out of earshot? That could be it…This place is ma-’

She suddenly let out a scream and flung herself backwards as one of the nearby small piles exploded into the air, a skeletal creature roaring at her. Too stricken by fear, she failed to notice that the creature sounded very much like a certain human and that its skull was lopsided. Instead, she curled into a surprisingly small ball and whimpered, afraid for her life.

“Ha! You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Tuffnut cackled, still wearing his bony costume. “You looked like you saw Death herself!” He continued to laugh, doubling over when his sides began to ache, causing the skull to fall off his head.

After a few minutes, he managed to calm down enough to glance up; Thora was still curled up and whimpering as she shook in fear. His brow rising, he went over to her. “…Uh…Thora…? You alright?” he questioned, though there was still laughter in his voice.

Slowly, she lifted her head only to find Tuffnut looking down at her; her cheeks were wet with tears. Her brows furrowed as the realization of what had happened took over her mind.

“Uh? Hello? Thora?” Tuffnut waved his hand in front of her face only to suddenly fall to his knees as Thora slammed a bone down onto his helmet. His vision spun for a few seconds.

“What in Midgard were ya thinkin’?!” she snarled, wiping her face on her arm. “I thought ya had gotten hurt or somethin’ an’ then ya burst out like that! O’ _course_ I thought I saw Death herself!”

His vision still spinning, he looked up at her only to cringe; she looked almost feral in her anger and the fact he saw two of her at the moment only made it worse. “It was just a joke!” he told her, his tone defensive. Blinking a few times, he managed to get his vision to stay in place. “Anyway, I would have thought you heard me, what with your weird troll hearing and stuff!”

She rubbed her face, growling under her breath. “Well, your _joke_ had me thinkin’ I was about t’ be killed by a Boneknapper,” she snapped. “An’ I probably would have heard ya if I wasn’t makin’ a racket lookin’ for bones myself!” Despite her angry tone, Tuffnut could see that she was still shaking from the fear.

“I didn’t think it’d be _that_ bad,” he admitted. “I mean, yeah, I wanted to scare you a bit, but…”

“But ya went too far with that,” she finished for him. Groaning, she rested her face in her hands before letting out a heavy sigh. “Maybe if we were somewhere else, it wouldn’t have been as scary, but Tuff –we’re in a dragon _graveyard_ …”

“Right…Sorry. Kinda.” He righted his helmet, feeling a bit guilty about his actions –but only a little bit. He would make sure to tell Ruffnut about Thora’s reaction later; maybe it would cheer her up. “But, to be fair,” he added, “you were pretty scary just now, too. I think that makes us even.”

She peeked out from behind her fingers. “What? How was I scary?”

“Uh, it only looked like there was a bear or wolf or some sort of big, hairy animal about to bite my face off.” He snapped his fingers, his face brightening. “Like that time in the Kill Ring when you were snarling at that Monstrous Nightmare! You know, last week!”

“…But I don’t look like a wolf or a bear,” she murmured, brows furrowed.

He snorted. “Not normally, but when you get mad like that, you start to snarl and you nose scrunches up, baring your teeth. You’re like-” He held his fingers up to his mouth, pretending they were tusks as he frowned deeply and began making angry animal noises. “Like that, only _way_ scarier. Not that I was _actually_ scared or anything, but y’know, _normal_ people would be scared.”

She stared at him for a moment before letting out a groan and hiding her face in her hands. “Oh gods…No wonder people were callin’ me a monster!” she grumbled, her voice muffled by her hands. “I was actin’ like one!”

Tuffnut’s brow rose. “Wait, what? When did that happen?”

“When we were headin’ t’ Helheim’s Gate,” she sighed. “I heard a bunch o’ the warriors whispering amongst themselves…they were sayin’ Uncle Stoick should have locked me up because I was just as monstrous as the dragons an’ that I’d just be a problem for them…”

He cocked his brow as he stared at her. “Uh, hello: You’re half troll and you were trying to protect Hiccup,” he said, his tone blunt. “ _Of course_ you’re going to look scary. But, uh, if they haven’t noticed, you look pretty normal when you’re _not_ scared out of your wits or trying to protect your family.” He shrugged, flicking a bit of rotted flesh off his shoulder. “I mean, have they _not_ seen a person protecting a loved one? Even the kindest person can be frightening in those moments.”

She glanced at him, rather taken aback by how sound his logic was. “Ya think so?”

“I _know_ so.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s pretty much no secret that my mom’s considered the most beautiful woman on Berk –she doesn’t look scary at all. Quite the opposite, really. But, by Odin’s beard, you should have seen her the time a bear tried to attack me ‘n Ruff when we were kids! I have _never_ seen a sight scarier than my mom shouting at that bear and swinging her ax at it.”

“ _Your_ mom fought a _bear_? And _lived_?”

He nodded, wearing a proud grin. “That cloak she wears during the winter? Yeah, that’s the bear that tried attacking us. I’ve even still got a scar on my leg from where it clawed me.” Still grinning, he leaned back, his hands resting on the ground behind him. “But yeah. People get scary when protecting loved ones. Sure, some are scarier than others, but that doesn’t make them monsters –you especially, since you’re a healer-witch-thing now.”

She quietly chuckled. “Healer-in-training,” she corrected.

He shrugged, feeling his guilt disappear now that he had her laughing again. “Healer-in-training, healer-witch-thing. What’s the difference?” He smirked, ducking as she made to playfully thwack him with her tail.

“The difference is I’m sort o’ banned from usin’ magic right now,” she laughed. “Gothi’s not at all happy with what I did on Dragon Island.” Standing up, she brushed herself off and offered her tail to help Tuffnut up.

“What? Why? You saved lives.” He held his hand out and she curled her tail around his forearm before easily pulling him to his feet.

“Because I apparently pushed myself too much an’ could have killed either my patients or myself.” She shrugged. “I understand why she’s upset, so I’m not too distraught over the situation.” She held the bag open as Tuffnut began adding some of the bones from his prank to the collection. “That, an’ she’s not entirely sure how t’ keep trainin’ me in magic? I’ve been learnin’ the human way o’ using it, but she also wants me t’ learn the troll way.”

He picked up the skull, dislocating the jawbone from it. “Uh…How? There’re no trolls on Berk except you.”

She eyed him curiously as he put the jaw in the bag. “Why’re you addin’ that in? An’ Gothi said she’s goin’ t’ write t’ my mum.”

“For the teeth,” he answered. “Keep it in simmering water for a few days an’ the bone should become wet enough to break away from the teeth or at least allow you to pull the teeth out easier.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. Uncle Bucket actually taught me that.” He picked the bag up, hoisting it over his shoulder. “Anyway, Gothi’s writing to your _mom_? But…like, your mom doesn’t know anything about you.” The two of them started to walk, heading back to Barf and Belch.

“Right? That’s what I told her!” She sighed. “I told her I didn’t think it the best o’ ideas, but o’ course, she disagreed. She probably read the runes an’ they told her t’ do it.”

He chuckled. “Probably. But, hey: This means there’s a chance you’ll finally meet your mom. That’d be cool, wouldn’t it?”

She bit her tongue, a bit of a nervous look coming to her face. “Eh…T’ be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I know next t’ nothin’ about her an’ she knows literally nothin’ about me. For all we know, she totally forgot she gave birth t’ me.”

At that, Tuffnut let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, _that’s_ likely. She only shoved you out of her-”

“You know what I mean,” she interrupted, scrunching her nose up and sticking her tongue out in disgust.

He smirked. “Consider that mental image payback for earlier.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on –I had no choice! Gothi _made_ me explain it to ya.”

“I could have lived the rest of my life _not_ knowing about how women bleed for a week.” They came to the clearing where Barf and Belch still lay, pleasantly snoring as they slept. Tuffnut whistled and their heads shot upright, looking around for him. As they spotted him, they got to their feet and trotted over.

She rolled her eyes at his comment. “An’ I could have lived the rest o’ my life without thinkin’ I was about t’ be killed by a very tiny Boneknapper.” Mounting Barf, she glanced over at Tuffnut as he mounted Belch. “Make sure t’ not let the bag open up. Don’t need its contents spillin’ over the island.”

“I’ll be careful,” he retorted, his tone indignant. As they took to the air, a look of confusion came to his face. “Wait…What’s a Boneknapper?”

Her brow rose. “…Da’s never told ya the story ‘bout him an’ the Boneknapper?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Huh. Ask him ‘bout it sometime; it’s the sort o’ story you’d like. Apparently, he’s friends with a whale.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ya know, takin’ a dollop o’ fresh dragon poo t’ the eye an’ still havin’ an eye afterwards is pretty much unheard of.”

“It’s not something I’m very proud of, to be honest.”

“Still. You’re lucky t’ have an eye at all –let alone the right side o’ your face.”

Hiccup cocked his brow as he glanced over at his cousin. Gothi lightly flicked his forehead, making him look back at her. “I really don’t want to think about that right now,” he sighed, closing both eyes and wincing ever so slightly when the old woman applied a strange paste to his skin.

“That’s why I’m sayin’ you’re lucky,” Thora chuckled. She tilted the mortar towards her, peering at the paste within. Finding it still too chunky, she started to grind it with the pestle again. “But don’t worry –you’re not the first one we’ve seen who’s been bombarded by dragon poo.”

He sighed. “That’s…oddly a relief to hear.”

Thora turned as Gothi tapped her on the shoulder. She pointed at the top shelf and Thora went to retrieve the jar she needed. “It’s not happened as much since we’ve figured out the dragons poo at three o’clock,” she told him, standing on tiptoe, “but it still does happen.”

“With luck, I’m hoping to get them pooing somewhere _away_ from the village.” Hiccup cracked open an eye as the scent of lavender filled his nose and saw Gothi dipping her fingers into a purple-tinted cream. “It’s harder than it seems, though.”

Gothi nodded, chuckling.

“We heard the commotion ya made earlier,” Thora admitted with a pitying smile. “Uncle Stoick put ya in charge o’ herding the dragons then?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, Gothi applying the cream to his cheek. “Eh…not really herding…more like trying to keep the dragons out of everyone’s hair. And Mildew’s been no help. Apparently, his entire field of cabbages was eaten by Gronckles a few nights ago.”

“Good! The basta—Ow!” She rubbed the top of her head where Gothi had smacked her. “What? He does! He’s nothin’ but trouble; even you’ve admitted it, Gothi.”

Gothi sighed, rolling her eyes before grabbing her staff and writing in the ashes of the hearth. ‘I may agree with you, but his cabbages were a food supply as well as useful in medicine. Hopefully, when spring comes, he will be able to grow more.’

Hiccup stuck his tongue out. “But his cabbage tastes disgusting.”

“Da’ can make it taste good. Remember that soup he made a few weeks ago –the one where ya had like, eight bowls?” He nodded. “That had cabbage in it.”

“Really? I thought that was lettuce or spinach…”

She snorted. “Nope. An’ you haven’t tried his cabbage rolls, either –those will make ya love the stuff. He boils cabbage leaves an’ then fills them with-” She was interrupted as Gothi used her staff to tap on the mortar. “Er…Right. Less talk, more work.”

Chuckling, Hiccup watched as she transferred the contents of the mortar into a jar before cleaning it out. “What are you even making? It smells disgusting.”

“A mixture t’ help with muscle cramps,” she replied. “It does have a bad smell now, but after a while, it mellows out. Even gets a bit sweet.”

He nodded in understanding, Gothi finally finishing her work on his face. “Oh, by the way: Your dad said to tell you all the bones have been ground up and the powder’s ready to be picked up.”

Gothi lightly shook her head, writing in the ashes. ‘About time. It only took him three days! It used to take him one.’

“Well, in his defense, we did get some pretty big bones,” Thora pouted.

‘With all his newfound time off, he should have finished ages ago.’ She lightly smacked the ground with the butt of her staff for emphasis.

Hiccup winced, glad his cousin was too busy measuring out some herb to read Gothi’s message. “Don’t you think that’s ah…a bit harsh?” Hiccup questioned, rubbing the back of his neck. “After all, Gobber’s been plenty busy! How else is the armory supposed to stay nice and sharp?”

Gothi gave him a dull look before going to check on Thora’s progress.

“Right…Well, ah…Thanks for fixing my face, Gothi. And I’ll see you later, Thora. Bye!” He waved at them both before hurrying out of the hut.

Thora glanced at Gothi from the corner of her eye as the old woman inspected the salve she had already made. “Are…ah, are ya feelin’ alright, Gothi?” she questioned.

‘Of course. Why would I not be?’ she scribbled on the chalkboard.

“Well, ya seem a bit… _grumpy_ all o’ a sudden.”

She sighed, lightly shaking her head. ‘Do I? I apologize. With the colder weather, my bones have been aching of late, but I haven’t any mint oil to ease them for the time being.’

Thora cocked her head to the side, using her tail to add a log to the fire. “Well, we can make some.” She added some oil into the mortar before sprinkling in some seedpods.

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t any mint and with storm season coming, I dare not sail to Healer’s Island.”

“…Gothi, we’ve got dragons now. We could _fly_ t’ the island.”

Gothi shot her a scolding look. ‘Neither of us has a dragon, nor can either of us fly one,’ she reminded her.

Shrugging, Thora started to grind the ingredients with the pestle. “That may be true, but I know Hiccup, Ruff, an’ Tuff –all o’ whom have dragons. I could ask ‘em if they could fly us over t’ the island.”

‘I think it would be best for only you to go,’ Gothi wrote. ‘Being in the cold so long would only make my bones feel worse. But, if they would be willing to take you then, by all means, please go. When the snows come, it will not be just me needing the relief of peppermint.’

Thora nodded. “Then how ‘bout I go ask ‘em after I finish this batch o’ medicine? I can also pick up the bone powder from da’.”

Gothi nodded. ‘That sounds good. By the by, I forgot to ask: Did you find any teeth?’

“I did, but they were still in the jaw. Tuffnut told me t’ simmer it for a few days t’ soften the bone, so I’ve got it at home in a pot.”

‘Tuffnut told you that?’

She nodded.

‘Well, well…that boy does have a brain after all,’ she wrote with a small laugh.

“He and Ruff are pretty smart, actually,” Thora told her. “Sure, they act dumb most o’ the time, but I swear, they’re only doin’ it t’ make us underestimate them.’ She paused, thinking back to a few days ago. “…Then again, Tuffnut did think it was a good idea t’ cover himself in bones an’ jump out at me in the dragon graveyard. Ugh. Could have sworn he was a Boneknapper…”

Her brow rising, Gothi cleaned off her board before writing anew. ‘Boneknapper?’ she questioned. ‘What in the world is a Boneknapper?’

Thora frowned. “…You’ve never heard o’ a Boneknapper either?”

She shook her head.

“Why is it tha’ only da’ an’ me know what a Boneknapper dragon is?” She sighed and brushed some hair from her face. “A Boneknapper is a type o’ dragon that uses the bones o’ the dead for armor. Its scales never harden enough t’ be useful, so it’s got t’ make due usin’ other things.”

‘Interesting! I’ve never heard of such a dragon before. How did you come to know of it?’

She shrugged. “Da’s had a few run-ins with one before,” she explained. “He’s told me the story at least a hundred times. An’ he’s also made sure that I’ve got every dragon in the Book o’ Dragons memorized, what with him usin’ it t’ read me t’ sleep when I was a child.” She peeked into the mortar before dumping it into another, empty jar.

Gothi watched as she cleaned out the mortar and wiped off the pestle. ‘When would you be willing to go fetch the mint?’

“Well, if I get someone’s help, I could go today,” she replied. “How much o’ the stuff d’ya need?”

‘Quite a lot, actually. I always make my mint oil extra strong so I can get away with using less of it.’

“I’ll be sure t’ keep that in mind.” Wiping her hands on her apron dress, she went to the door and shouldered her satchel. “If I don’t come back, I’ll have gone t’ the island an’ I’ll bring in the bone powder an’ the mint tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll be back with the bone powder.”

Nodding in understanding, Gothi gave her a small wave before she left.

 

When Thora reached the town square, she found it to be in complete disarray. Barrels and crates had been tossed everywhere, dragon poo was scattered across the ground, and a lone sheep stood near the well, the wool near its rump burnt. Sighing, Thora lightly shook her head and continued on her way.

‘I suppose Hiccup will be too busy after this,’ she thought, turning some barrels upright and carrying them out of the way. ‘I’ll see what Ruff and Tuff are up to, then. Hopefully Ruff’s feeling better…’

When she made it to the Thorston household, she was greeted by the twins and their dragon. All four were sitting atop the house, though Barf and Belch lowered themselves at Thora’s approach. She bit her tongue, feeling a bit nervous to be so close to the dragon, despite having ridden it just a few days prior.

“Halt!” Tuffnut declared. “Who dares to approach the Thorston estate?”

“‘Estate’, huh? Since when did you guys get one o’ those?” she teased.

Ruffnut grinned. “An estate needn’t be a large plot of land, my dear Thora,” she explained, her tone scholarly.

“Indeed, my good sister!” Tuffnut agreed. “In fact, an estate is simply the whole of somebody’s property, possession, and money.”

“Yes, farms and large halls are normally what one thinks of when the word ‘estate’ is brought up-”

“Strange, I normally associate it with dead people,” Thora interrupted.

Ruffnut pouted. “I was going to add that in!”

Shrugging, she cheekily grinned. “Sorry.”

Flopping over the top of Barf’s head, she let out a defeated sigh. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your lessons with Gothi?” she questioned, still wearing a frown.

“Yeah!” Tuffnut agreed, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Why’re you out early?” He suddenly perked, his eyes widening. “Did you get in trouble? Did she fire you from being her apprentice? We can kick her butt if she did!”

Thora cocked her brow, wondering how in the world he had come up with that idea. “Ah…no? I’m actually here wonderin’ if I could ask a favor o’ ya.”

The twins raised their brows and spoke in unison. “A favor?”

She nodded. “Aye. I need t’ go t’ Healer’s Island, but since I don’t have a dragon o’ my own an’ Hiccup seems t’ be busy destroyin’ the town…”

A sly grin suddenly came to Ruffnut’s face. “And what would we get in return for said favor?” she questioned.

“Er…the satisfaction o’ knowin’ ya helped out a friend?” she suggested, trying to smile innocently.

The twin looked at one another, both wearing dull, bored expressions. “You’ll have to do better than that,” Tuffnut replied, resting his chin in his hand.

Ruffnut mirrored his pose. “Yeah. We need somethin’ better than that.”

“Like what? I already brought ya herbs for your cramps. Did they help, by the way?”

Ruffnut’s cheeks turned a bit pink as she self-consciously glanced over at her twin. Tuffnut, however, pretended not to hear and simply glared at something in the distance. “Er, yeah…they helped a lot, actually,” she mumbled, quickly looking away again. “But that was earlier this week; this is an entirely different situation.”

“I have an idea!” Tuffnut suddenly declared. He motioned Ruffnut over and, leaning close to her, began whispering in her ear.

Thora rolled her eyes, chuckling as she covered her ears. When the twins separated, she uncovered them again. “So, what’s the price I’ve got t’ pay?”

“Pierce our ears,” they answered, crossing their arms and wearing smug grins.

Her brow rose, taken aback. “…Ya want me t’ pierce your ears?” she repeated. “That’s all?”

“You act like it’s easy,” Ruffnut frowned.

“Yeah, it’s _not_. We’ve tried before, but we always got them crooked or ended up having to take the earrings out because they got infected,” Tuffnut added.

She shrugged, surprised by the simplicity of the trade. “Fine. I’ll do it, but only on one condition.”

“And that would be…?”

A serious expression came to her face and she pointed at them with her tail. “Swear t’ Odin that you’ll _never_ yank each other’s piercings durin’ one o’ your fights,” she told them. “I’ve seen the damage they can do when pulled on an’ trust me, it’s _not_ pretty. There’s a reason No-Ears Erlingr is called No-Ears.”

The twins cringed at the thought, but that didn’t deter them. “We swear,” Tuffnut told her.

“Yeah, we swear. We like our ears. …Well, I like mine. Tuffnut’s are the size of shields,” Ruffnut snickered, ducking as her brother tried to smack her shoulder.

“Your ears are just as big!” he argued. “They’re just hidden under all your hair.”

“It doesn’t matter how big your ears are,” Thora sighed. “They’ll both end up pierced in the end. Now, let’s go t’ Healer’s Island, shall we?”

Barf and Belched hopped off of the roof and landed beside her. “You’ll have to sit on their back,” Ruffnut instructed, “since there’s no more room on their necks.”

Tuffnut looked at his twin. “Uh…how’s she going to hold on?” he asked as Thora awkwardly climbed onto the dragon.

“Uh, duh?” She reached over and knocked on his helmet. “Her tail, idiot.” She glanced back at their friend, checking to see if she was settled yet. “You alright back there? We could always have them carry you in their claws.”

Adjusting herself so that she was nestled between Barf and Belch’s spines, Thora wrapped her tail around Belch’s neck. “I’m fine just where I am,” she replied. “Aye, it’s a wee bit awkward, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Matching grins came to the twins’ faces and Thora let out a small yelp as Barf and Belch suddenly took to the air. It was far more difficult to hold onto the dragon without the help of rope and horns, but Thora kept her tail securely wrapped around Belch while her hands gripped the spines in front of her. When the twins started diving through the air and making their dragon twirl around in circles, she wasn’t sure if they were trying to dislodge her or if this was how they always flew.

 

Thankfully, getting to Healer’s Island didn’t take very long. By boat, it would have taken half a day with favorable conditions, but thanks to Barf and Belch, the trip to the island only took an hour. They landed near the island’s center, in a nice, open field. As Thora slid off the dragon’s back, Ruffnut and Tuffnut looked around, already finding themselves bored.

“So…why are we here, again?” Ruffnut asked, hopping off Barf.

“I need t’ get a lot o’ mint,” Thora replied, straightening out her clothes. “It shouldn’t take me too long, so the two o’ ya can either come with me or stay here.”

Tuffnut slid off Belch, moving to lie against the dragon’s side. “I’m stayin’ here. Going to Death’s Head Headlands was fun, but hunting for plants? No thanks.”

Ruffnut shrugged, moving to start following Thora. “I’ll come with you; I need a break from the smell of Tuffnut.”

“Real men smell like sweat and blood!” he argued as the two females walked off.

“Real men know tha’ bathin’ is good for them an’ their health,” Thora murmured, plucking a leaf off a bush and looking it over.

“Huh. So that’s why all the guys our age act like babies,” Ruffnut snickered.

Thora chuckled. “That’s not true! Hiccup an’ Fishlegs are rather mature.”

“Eh, but the rest of them?” She shook her head. “Snotlout and Fraener are the biggest babies of the bunch, though.”

Thora rolled her eyes, letting out a sound of disgust. “You’re tellin’ me! If it’s possible, Fraener’s worse than Snotlout –he goes cryin’ t’ his da’ if ya so much as _look_ at him wrong.”

“Right? At least Snotlout has the bollocks to fight back – _sometimes_.” She glanced around as they got further and further away from her brother and dragon. “So, ah…where would we find the mint? Does it grow in the trees?”

Shaking her hair, Thora used her tail to lightly turn Ruffnut westwards along the path. “It likes wet areas,” she explained, “so we’re goin’ t’ the lake.”

“There’s a _lake_ on this island? Not fair. Berk doesn’t have a lake…”

“No, but it’s the Unlandable Cove –that’s got a nice swimmin’ hole in it.”

“But this is so far away. If I wanted to go swimming, I don’t want to have to fly an hour to get there.” She crossed her arms, pouting.

Thora laughed. “We live on an _island,_ Ruff. Ya can walk t’ the beach an’ go swimming any time ya want.”

Ruffnut stuck her tongue out in displeasure. “It’s salt water; I can’t swim with my eyes open! Plus, what I get attacked by a shark?”

“…You’re scared o’ gettin’ attacked by a shark?”

“It’s a logical fear! They live in the ocean and come close to shore when they want to eat a seal or something.”

Patting her on the shoulder, Thora chuckled. “I wasn’t goin’ t’ tease ya for it,” she assured her. “I’m afraid o’ sharks, too. Da’ says I shouldn’t be, since they’re easy t’ gut, but he forgets that I don’t have a hook for a hand.” Holding up her hand, she scrunched her nose up slightly as she looked it over. “Don’t even have enough fingers, really…”

Ruffnut snickered again. “You’ve got more fingers than my cousin, Handless Hans. He lost his right hand in a dragon attack a long, long time ago, as well as…oh, three, I think, of the fingers on his left hand.”

Thora cocked her head. “You’ve got cousins?”

She nodded. “Yeah, on mom’s side. They live on Bashem.”

“Your mum came from Bashem, too?”

“Nah. Mom had five sisters and they all married Bashem-Oik men. We don’t see them very often, but they do write a lot. Mom has a whole chest of letters from her sisters…She’s waiting for Trader Johann to get here so she can send him off with a batch she’s been writing.” She shrugged. “But yeah. Handless Hans only has two or three fingers to his name, so you’re better off than him at least.”

“Have ya ever met him?”

“Once, when Tuff and I were real small. Mom’s the youngest of her sisters, so all our cousins are like…twice or thrice our age. Not that it matters, since we don’t get to see them, anyway.”

It was Thora’s turn to shrug. “Must be kind o’ nice, though, knowin’ you’ve got family out there, even if you don’t know ‘em too well.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She gave Thora a light shove. “You’ve got Hiccup though, so don’t go acting like you don’t have family.”

“I wasn’t!” she pouted. “I was just sayin’ it’s nice t’ know. I mean, I’ve apparently got three older brothers somewhere out in the world an’ it’s oddly comfortin’ knowing that.”

Ruffnut grinned. “You’re just weird.”

“Well, aye, but I thought ya knew that already?” She quickly reached over, grabbing Ruffnut’s belt and tugged her backwards as they abruptly came to the edge of a small cliff. “Thank ya, Gothi, for not tellin’ me about this…” she murmured, peering down at the lake below.

Ruffnut’s cheeks grew a bit red out of a mixture of shock and embarrassment. “Er…thanks,” she mumbled, also looking down at the water. Its surface was no more than ten feet below them, but both girls knew that it would be freezing cold. “So, uh, is that the mint?” she asked, pointing at a bush growing a few yards away from the lake’s edge.

“Could be. Hard t’ tell from up here, though.” Releasing Ruffnut’s belt, she started to climb down the crag.

“How much of it do you need?”

“Gothi wasn’t specific. She told me that I’d just need t’ grab a lot.” She slid down the side of a boulder before reaching up and helping Ruffnut down. “So, I’m guessin’ ‘a lot’ means as much as I can carry.”

“And since you’re half troll, that means you can carry way more than she thinks!” Ruffnut teased. “You should bring her like…ten bushes.”

Thora’s brow rose. “How am I supposed t’ carry ten mint bushes, especially when we’ve got t’ ride a dragon back t’ Berk?”

At that, Ruffnut shrugged, but grinned. “No idea, but at least it would be enough.”

Rolling her eyes, she nudged the blonde’s shoulder with her tail, also grinning. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll make _you_ carry some o’ it, too,” she lightly threatened. She walked over to the bush and, without touching it at first, inspected it. “Looks like mint an’ kind o’ smells like mint,” she murmured.

“So it’s gotta be mint,” Ruffnut finished.

“It smells different, though. I think this might actually be spearmint.” She pushed some hair out of her face before plucking one of the leaves from the stem.

Ruffnut cocked a brow. “There’s a difference?”

“Mhm. They look pretty much the same, except spearmint has pointier leaves.” Popping the leave in her mouth, she chewed it. As the flavor coated her tongue, she nodded. “Aye, definitely spearmint. Hm…” She looked around, hoping to see if any other mint bushes were growing nearby.

“Don’t spearmint and mint have basically the same uses?” Ruffnut also picked a couple of leaves and started chewing them. “My mom uses them pretty interchangeably.”

“For the most part, they do,” Thora agreed, “but spearmint is more treatin’ skin problems while plain mint is better for lungs an’ aching bones. Plus, it tastes better with lamb an’ mutton.”

Nodding in agreement, Ruffnut spat the chewed-up leaves on the ground. “You got me there. Spearmint just tastes a little…odd with sheep.”

“Oh, an’ plain mint is also really good at keepin’ lice an’ fleas away,” added Thora as she went to look over a different bush.

“Yeah. Mom’s been making sure to douse me an’ Tuff in the stuff for years. It’s like she forgets that Berk is one of the cleanest Viking settlements, so we don’t have those problems…” Picking up a rock, she looked it over, judging its flatness. “Anyway, I found out fish oil is actually a lot better for my hair.” Finding the rock too round on one side, she tossed it over her shoulder.

“Fish oil?” She glanced over at Ruffnut.

“Yeah! Not only does it keep my hair nice and shiny, but it also keeps it thick and strong. Tuffnut hates it when I use the stuff because it apparently stinks, but then again, have you seen the state of his hair? Blegh. Also, he doesn’t bathe.” She shook her head and picked up a different rock. Finding this one flat enough for her liking, she flicked her wrist, watching as it skipped four times before sinking beneath the waters.

“Well, he’s a guy. What do ya expect?” She let out a small sigh of relief; this second bush _was_ mint. “For the most part, guys are gross.”

“Name one guy who _isn’t_ gross and who _isn’t_ Hiccup or Stoick.”

She peeked over at Ruffnut, seeing that she was looking for more rocks to skip. “Er…Well…Egil’s fairly alright.”

“Uh…He farts on his little brother. I thought that was common knowledge?”

She stuck her tongue out. “No wonder Gustav’s weird…” she muttered. “What about Gunnar Swansong? Not only is he a decent fellow, he’s probably the least offensive guy our age next t’ Fishlegs.”

Ruffnut was silent for a moment as she contemplated Thora’s suggestion. “Hm.” Flinging a second rock, she watched as it skipped five times before sinking. “Yeah, alright. He’s not gross. Then again, he’s had to take care of himself, especially since he’s had to start raising his little sister now that Gerta’s gone…”

Thora froze, the memory of a half-burnt woman, her skull crushed and body twisted, filled her mind. Swallowing hard, she tried to push the image away and focus on gathering the mint in front of her, but it stayed in place.

“You alright?” Ruffnut asked, her brows furrowing as she watched Thora shake her head a few times. She grumbled quietly before rubbing her forehead. “Thora? Hey? Are you even listening to me?”

“S-sorry. I just…” Thora shook her head again before sighing. “It’s nothin’.”

Ruffnut crossed her arms and cocked her hip as she gave Thora a scolding look. “Yeah, you bein’ pale and shaky isn’t _nothing_. What’s going on?”

She bit her tongue before rubbing the back of her neck. “Gerta was…she was one o’ the bodies I saw durin’ the fight,” she admitted. “Let’s just say there were far better ways for her t’ have gone.”

Cringing at the thought, Ruffnut awkwardly patted her shoulder. “O-oh…sorry,” she murmured, glancing away. “I guess not being on the ground for the most of the fight was a good thing for us riders. We didn’t have to see any of…of _that_. And when we were on the ground, the fog and smoke blocked it all out.”

Letting out a sigh, Thora shook her head a final time. “Yeah…But at least she’s at peace now. I’m pretty sure she’s with her husband in Valhalla.” Pulling her dagger from her bag, she pushed it into the earth around the mint bush. She began sawing around its base, cutting its roots so she could pull it up. “But yeah, Gunnar an’ Fishlegs are the only guys I can think of.”

Ruffnut crouched down, helping Thora loosen the plant from the earth. “Well, now that I think of it, Yngling isn’t too bad, either.”

“Yngling? As in Yngling Berg?”

“Uh, duh? He’s the only Yngling on the island.”

“Yeah, and he happens t’ be a complete jerk. He’s _worse_ than Snotlout.”

“Attitude-wise, yeah,” Ruffnut grinned mischievously, “but even you gotta admit he’s gettin’ _real_ handsome.”

Thora stuck her tongue out. “There are way better lookin’ blokes on Berk than him,” she argued. With some effort, she and Ruffnut were able to tug the mint free of the earth’s grasp. “Anyway, I thought this was a discussion ‘bout how gross the guys are –not how attractive they are?”

Shrugging, Ruffnut chuckled. “They can go hand-in-hand, you know. The grosser a guy is, usually the less attractive he is. Anyway, despite being a jerk, he’s real easy on the eyes. I mean, have you _seen_ the way his biceps flex when he’s carrying sheep?” She let out a wistful sigh, mentally picturing the sight. “It’s like watching Thor himself…”

Her brow rising as she watched the blonde stare lustfully at nothing in particular, Thora made a quiet noise of disgust. “Ruff, you’re startin’ t’ drool.”

“Sorry. It’s just such a gorgeous sight.” She wiped her mouth off on her arm. “Seriously –you should check it out sometime.”

“Er…I’d rather watch Snotlout workout than watch that jerk. An’ that’s sayin’ something, because ya know how much I hate Snotlout.” Shaking her head, she wiped her dagger clean on her trousers before tucking it away. “So, no, I don’t agree he’s handsome.”

Ruffnut stared at her, somewhat offended. “But even Astrid thinks he’s handsome!”

“That may be so, but look who she picked over him: Hiccup.” She chuckled, pushing some hair from her face.

Giving her a curious look, Ruffnut crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you even sure you’re into guys?” she questioned, her tone almost accusing.

“Just because I don’t find _one_ bloke handsome due t’ him bein’ a jerk doesn’t mean I don’t like men!” Thora cackled as they started to walk back to the clearing.

“Then who _do_ you find handsome?”

She shrugged. “Well, I find Egil kind o’ cute, but that’s about it, really.” She ran her hand through her hair only for it to get stuck partway through. “T’ be honest, I’m tryin’ t’ _not_ go down that road right now.”

“Huh? Why not? Is it the whole ‘future Völva of Berk’ thing?”

Untangling her fingers, Thora scrunched her nose up when she realized one of her rings had come off in the mess of hair. “Sort of, but it’s more me tryin’ t’ not get my hopes up for any sort o’ romantic future.”

Ruffnut frowned. “Dude, that’s lame. I’m sure-”

Thora shot her a look. “ _Don’t_ even try,” she sighed. “Your my friend, o’ course you’d be optimistic. But I _know_ I’m not what humans want for a lover or wife. Now, that’s not t’ say I may find myself a troll in the future, but…” She shrugged. “Unless the person’s blind, that is.”

Shrugging, the blonde put her hands behind her head. “I guess that’s alright. So long as it doesn’t like…depress you or anything? I mean, you are being realistic about the whole thing…Still think you can score a human, though. You’re actually pretty plain, even with your tail and tusks.”

“Regardless. I’m not gettin’ my hopes up.” She shrugged again. “Anyway, it’s not like I really have much time t’ spend with a guy. I’m either at my lessons or runnin’ errands for Gothi.”

“True. You don’t have the freedom of us dragon riders.” She grinned cheekily. “We get to spend all day doing whatever we want with our dragons…it’s almost a shame Gobber stuck ya with Gothi. You’re missing out on all the fun!”

Thora cast a small glare in her direction, but it went unnoticed. “Keep that in mind the next time ya get sick from inhalin’ too much o’ Barf’s gas.”

Ruffnut stuck her tongue out. “Warmed yak’s milk with chamomile in it,” she taunted. “Easy enough to remember.”

Smirking, she gave Ruffnut a light nudge with her tail. “Ya forgot an ingredient.”

“Did not! Gothi put chamomile in that warmed yak’s milk –nothin’ else!”

“Nope. There was somethin’ else she added an’ I’m not goin’ t’ tell ya what it is.” She blew a teasing raspberry at her friend, who scowled. “At least, I won’t tell ya if ya can’t catch me.” She darted ahead on the path.

“Oh, I’ll catch you alright!” Ruffnut laughed, taking chase.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is somewhat graphic violence towards the end of the chapter. Nothing terribly nasty, but be on guard when a certain flipflopping bad guy pops up.

“Ah…Ah…ACHOO –Ow!”

Gothi shook her head, letting out a hoarse sigh. It was the fifth time in half an hour that Thora had sneezed, and the third time she had managed to smack her head on a rafter. She watched as the girl hopped down off the stool, rubbing the top of her head.

‘If I had known that this would be your reaction to making oils, I would have had you do this outside,’ she wrote, handing the chalkboard to Thora in exchange for a large, copper pot.

“It wasn’t bad when we were doin’ the mint,” Thora replied, pulling a cloth from her belt. “Only when we started the lavender.” She blew her nose in the cloth only to wince as her head throbbed painfully against her skull. “Ugh…I’m goin’ t’ need t’ make myself some headache tea.”

‘Until your sneezing stops, I will not have you go into the rafters anymore. We do not need you splitting your skull open.’ She carried the copper pot over to the hearth, where there was already a copper pot filled with crushed lavender and oil sitting over a small pile of coals.

Thora came over and, using her apron dress as protection from the heat, lifted the pot of lavender from the hook. She carried it to the back of the hut, where she set it on the floor to cool. “It already feels like my head was split open,” she replied, feeling the top of her head. Finding her fingers blood-free, she let out a sigh of relief before suddenly sneezing again.

Shaking her head yet again, Gothi grabbed Thora’s arm and dragged her outside. The air was bitterly cold and freshly fallen snow crunched under their feet. Gothi brushed some snow off the top of a barrel before making Thora sit down atop it.

‘You need to be away from the lavender for a while,’ she wrote in the snow. ‘Apparently, it is too strong a scent for you right now.’

Blowing her nose once more, Thora nodded in understanding. “I’m goin’ t’ have t’ agree with ya,” she groaned. “It’s weird, though –when I was revivin’ the flowers, I didn’t have this reaction.” She was able to cover her nose and mouth with the cloth before she let out yet another sneeze.

‘That was before we crushed them,’ Gothi reminded her. ‘The oils within the flowers became more potent, and since there was so much lavender for us to crush, it only grew stronger. The same thing happened with the mint, only it became easier for the both of us to breathe and why our eyes stung a bit.’

“Well, next time we make oil out o’ a flower, I’ll be sure t’ wear a cloth over my face.” Leaning over, she scooped up a handful of snow before taking a bite out of it. She shivered as the cool stuff filled her mouth, but grinned. “I hate havin’ a runny nose…I’m just glad I’m not actually sick.”

‘We do not know that just yet,’ Gothi told her. She placed the back of her hand on Thora’s forehead. It wasn’t any warmer than usual and the same could be said for the back of her neck. ‘No fever, so that is a good sign.’

“Trust me, you’ll be the first t’ know if an’ when I get sick,” Thora chuckled. She ate another handful of snow only to sneeze it back out. A disappointed look came to her face, earning a hoarse laugh from Gothi. “By the way, when are we goin’ t’ use that bone powder? It’s been nearly two weeks since ya got it.”

An almost mischievous twinkle appeared in the old woman’s eyes. ‘You have not noticed? I have used a bit of it almost every day.’

Thora frowned. “Ya have? When?”

‘When I read the runes for the day.’ She turned, moving to go back into the hut, motioning for Thora to follow. Once back inside, she wiped the chalkboard clean before writing anew on it. ‘As you know, bones are important to divining the future. Chicken and rabbit bones are normally the bones of choice for reading the future, but powdered dragon bone helps to make the future clearer. It can also be mixed into potions or burned as part of an incense to help induce trances for divining.’

Thora’s brows furrowed as she read over the words. “Wait, there’s more ways t’ read the future than just the bones an’ the runes? Since when?”

Gothi cocked a brow. ‘Since always.’

“Then why do ya only ever read the runes an’ bones?”

‘Because going into the trances takes too much energy for me these days,’ she explained. ‘It not only takes mental strength, but physical as well. Not to mention the endurance needed and I simply do not possess those these days.’

“So…I take it you’ll be teachin’ me how t’ do that?”

Gothi shook her head. ‘Not for a long while. I may not even be the one to teach you, now that the letter has been sent.’

Thora froze, her eyes wide. “It…It has? But when did Trader Johann come? I didn’t know he had come an’ gone already!” She suddenly pouted. “I wanted t’ make some trades with him…”

‘Late last week. You did not know? I would have thought Gobber would have told you, especially since you were stuck at home.’

Turning a bit red, Thora bit her tongue and glanced away. “T’ be honest, I’m not awake much while I’m on my bleedin’ time, so I don’t think da’ would have had the chance. But I can’t believe he came an’ left already!” Sighing, she shook her head. “Oh well…I’ll get my stuff another time.”

Gothi lightly patted her on the shoulder, chuckling. ‘Do not worry. While it will be some time before we get a reply, but Trader Johann will surely be back within a few weeks.’

She shrugged. “Eh…it was nothin’ important. Just wanted t’ see if he had any fabric.” Going over to the corner of the hut, she lifted a small barrel, easily prying open its top. She dumped its contents into the copper pot. “We were goin’ t’ do the clove oil next, aye?”

Nodding, Gothi took the empty barrel from her and took it over to a window, where she tossed it outside. Thora cocked her brow, hearing it crash on the rocks below.

“Now why did ya go an’ do that?” she questioned. “Ya just went an’ ruined a perfectly good barrel.”

‘No,’ Gothi wrote, ‘it was years old. It was barely good for anything but firewood by this point. Now, speaking of the bone powder earlier, you mentioned a while ago that you had gotten some dragon teeth?’

“Oh, aye! I’ve got them at home in a box. It took a lot o’ work gettin’ them out o’ that jawbone, even after letting it soak for a few days.”

Nodding in understanding, Gothi wiped the slate clean. ‘Now those, in all honesty, have no purpose in our work.’

Grabbing a chest from one of the many shelves, Thora frowned. “They…don’t? Then why did ya have me get them!?” She nearly dropped the chest as a sneeze took her by surprise.

‘Because they are useful for jewelry, of course! If you are to become a Völva, you will need to have ceremonial garb and that includes jewelry.’

Thora cringed, an unsure look on her face. “…Er…are the clothes an’ jewelry necessary?” she questioned. Opening the chest, she dumped its contents –cloves- into the largest of Gothi’s mortars. “I mean, it’s not like they help with doin’ magic or healin’ people, right?”

‘Most times, no, they do not. Of course, you could enchant pieces of jewelry to have magical properties, such as protection, fertility, anti-fertility, and so on. But more often than not, a Völva’s wardrobe is purely for vanity and bragging rights.’

“Lovely! Means I don’t have t’ wear any o’ it, since I’m not vain an’ I don’t brag. I’ll be just fine in my normal clothes.” Looking around the area, she tried to find the pestle for the mortar, though it was nowhere in sight.

Gothi cocked a brow, her hand moving to grab her staff, but Thora yanked it away from her with her tail.

“Nuh-uh. No thwackin’ me. My head hurts bad enough,” she pouted. Getting to her feet, she started to search around the hut for the pestle.

‘You will need a ceremonial outfit,’ Gothi wrote, her eyes narrowed in a scolding glare. ‘All Völva and witches wear them when the occasion calls for it, and that means you will as well. No excuses.’

“But I’ve got a good excuse!” Thora frowned. “I’m goin’ through another growth spurt.” She finally found the pestle hiding behind one of Gothi’s cooking pots, its end dirtied by what looked to be salt and pepper. She wiped it clean on her apron dress before going back to the table.

At that, Gothi cocked a brow. ‘Are you? I thought, perhaps, you looked taller…Well then, when you have finished your growing spurt, _then_ you can commission a dress from one of the seamstresses in the village. Tomorrow, however, I would like you to bring those dragon teeth.’

She sighed, knowing it would be useless to argue. ‘I don’t want the seamstresses to waste all that fabric,’ she thought, beginning to crush the cloves. ‘What if this isn’t my last growth spurt? Humans are supposed to have finished growing by this time in their lives, and yet here I am, getting taller…’ Another, quieter sigh left her mouth as she held her hand over the mortar, keeping the cloves from jumping out.

Gothi’s brow remained raised as she watched the teen work. Her sudden silence wasn’t an unusual occurrence, though it did manage to make the old woman worry at times. Thora used her tail to bring the copper pot over to her and she dumped the lightly-crushed cloves into it before filling the mortar up a second time. The whole time, her brows were slightly furrowed and she had a bit of a distant look in her eyes.

Shaking her head, Gothi glanced at one of her windows. Outside, the light was beginning to fade as day turned to dusk. She reached over, lightly tapping Thora’s shoulder after the girl dumped a second mortar’s worth of cloves into the copper pot.

“Hm?”

‘That is all for today,’ she wrote. ‘The sun will set soon, so it is best you get home. I can finish the clove oil.’

“Are ya sure? The pot’s kind o’ heavy.”

Gothi nodded. ‘I may be old and have aching bones, but I still have strength enough to lift a pot of oil,’ she wrote with a raspy laugh. ‘Now go on, go home. Tomorrow is a new day with new lessons.’ Setting down the chalk, she made a shooing motion at Thora.

With the smallest of defiant smiles, she picked up the pot and set it on the hook before Gothi could stop her. She hurried out of the way before the old woman could grab her staff, darting out the door and into the frigid night air.

‘Why did I not wear a cloak today?’ she thought, rubbing her arms. She sprinted down the path, wanting to get to her nice, warm house. ‘Oh, that’s right –there wasn’t any snow this morning!’

She was halfway down the final flight of stairs when one of the buildings in front of her exploded. A yelp left her mouth as she was shoved backwards by an invisible force and pained filled her backside as she fell against the stairs. Shaking her head, she pushed herself upright only to see the spinning, double image of the armory entirely engulfed in flames and Toothless rushing towards her.

“What the…?” she murmured, blinking her eyes in an attempt to get her vision righted. Toothless hurried to her side, nudging her with his nose in an effort to get her to stand. “I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’,” she told him, her sight finally beginning to settle. Holding onto his snout, she painfully stood up; she knew she’d have some nasty bruises along her shoulders and lower back the next day.

There was already a crowd of people gathered around the well when Thora hurried over. She took three buckets of water as they were handed to her before rushing back to the flaming building. The small bit of water she carried did little to help douse the flames; the fire was so hot, she could barely get close enough to throw the water. Even then, it did little more than turn to steam the second it came in contact with the fire.

Turning, she started to head back to the well only to find Stoick, Gobber, and Hiccup rushing towards the scene.

“First our boots, then the Great Hall –now the armory?!” Gobber cried. “What’s goin’ t’ happen next? We’ll get attacked by an old enemy?!”

“What happened?!” Stoick demanded, his eyes wide in horror.

“I’m not sure,” Thora replied, glancing over her shoulder. “I was comin’ down the stairs when the armory just…just exploded!”

One of the Vikings pointed at Toothless. “It was him! He did it!” he accused. “I saw him go into the armory not fifteen minutes ago! Not ten minutes ago, the whole thing goes ‘Boom!’”

Hiccup paled, his eyes widening as well. “No…Toothless would never do something like this!”

“Ask her; she saw him too!” the man argued, pointing at Thora.

The other three men looked at her, waiting for her response. Rubbing the back of her neck, she bit her tongue and looked away. “I don’t know what I saw,” she told them. “The explosion threw me back an’ I was disoriented for a few minutes. I _did_ see Toothless in the area –he came runnin’ at me- but from where, I don’t know.” It was a partial lie she told them; she had seen Toothless running from the armory, but she was sure he didn’t make it explode. Why would he, after all the good he’s done for Berk? “For all I know, he could have been runnin’ from the Great Hall or from the armory. I really don’t know, Uncle.” Glancing at Hiccup, she could see a look of hurt on his face and, for some reason, guilt filled her stomach.

Stoick shook his head. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, we need to work on puttin’ this fire out.”

“It’s too hot,” a woman told him, “we can’t get close enough t’ throw water on the flames. Not even five Scauldrons could put that inferno out!”

“Maybe some of the weapons will survive?” Hiccup suggested, desperation written in his features. “You’ve got to get metal _extremely_ hot to ruin it-”

Stoick held up his hand. “Not now, Hiccup,” he sighed, pulling at his beard with his other hand. “The two o’ you head home. Tomorrow, I want the dragons _off_ Berk.”

Knowing better than to argue against him, Thora and Hiccup wordlessly left the scene, Toothless following behind them. Most of the villagers had left their homes by that point, leaving the streets relatively empty as the trio walked towards the village center. Still no words were said between them and Toothless could sense the tense air between the cousins. He let out a soft noise of concern before pressing his nose against Hiccup’s palm.

Stopping in his tracks, Hiccup looked down at his dragon only to find concern and fear in his large, green eyes. He knew there was no way Toothless would have ever set the armory on fire, or that a Monstrous Nightmare would go on a rampage in the Great Hall…dragons simply weren’t like that. But, by now, he knew the rest of the village wasn’t going to believe him.

“Hiccup…?” Thora quietly asked, reaching a hand out towards him. “You alright?”

He stepped away from her hand, half-glaring at her. “Be honest with me,” he spoke, his tone surprisingly firm. “I know you were lying back there –I’ve know you far too long, Thora. Did you see Toothless come out of the armory?”

She sighed, biting her tongue again. “Aye, I did kind o’ lie back there,” she admitted, “but it was because I _did_ see him comin’ from the armory.” She looked at him only to find that he wasn’t looking at her. “I didn’t want either o’ ya t’ get in trouble.”

Hiccup clenched his eyes shut for a minute, trying to figure out what in Midgard was going on. “It couldn’t have been him, though,” he told her. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time! He _had_ to be!”

“I know, Hiccup, I know-” she tried to assure him, but he interrupted her.

“No, you _don’t_ know!” he suddenly snapped. “You _can’t_ know what it’s like; you don’t have a dragon!” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

Thora froze for a moment, her eyes wide in shock; Hiccup had _never_ snapped at her. “Ya really think that?” she questioned, her senses having returned. “Ya really think that I can’t care ‘bout the dragons an’ how someone’s framin’ them _just_ because I _don’t_ have a dragon?”

“It’s different for you!” he argued, motioning at all of her. “Yeah, you care about the dragons, but you don’t have a bond with any of them.” Turning away from her, he rubbed the top of Toothless’ head. “You don’t know what it’s like, knowing you’ll have to exile your best friend come morning.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “Hiccup, if I wasn’t stuck at my apprenticeship all day, ya _know_ I’d be helpin’ ya try t’ find out who’s been doin’ this to the dragons!”

He rolled his eyes. “You could have helped with the patrols last night! If you had been helping, then there would have been a good chance of us finding the culprit!”

“How was I supposed t’ help when I didn’t know ‘bout them?” she demanded. “No one told me ‘bout them until Fishlegs showed up on my doorstep wearin’ a sash with ‘DUMB’ scribbled across it. Ya need t’ keep me in the loop ‘bout things like that!” She quietly growled, rubbing her face in a mixture of exhaustion and aggravation.

Hiccup glared up at her –if she hadn’t been upset, she would have admitted he looked less threatening and more like a puppy with a stomachache. “And how am I supposed to do that when you’re always gone? If you’re not at Gothi’s, you’re somewhere in the woods. If you’re not somewhere in the woods, you’re off with the twins! I can’t keep track of you _and_ the dragon riders, Thora!”

She rolled her eyes, her tail low to the ground and sharply twitching back and forth. “Odin’s underpants, Hiccup; I’m sorry I have t’ run errands for Gothi. It’s not like she’s an elderly woman an’ can go huntin’ down herbs an’ shit all on her own anymore! Also, you’re not easy t’ find yourself. Whenever I get the chance an’ feel like talkin’ with ya, you’re nowhere in sight because you’re always off flyin’!”

“What else are you supposed to do with a dragon? Take it for walks?! They _fly_ , Thora! Walks aren’t enough for them!” He shook his head, running his hands through his hair in anger and frustration. “But now, I won’t be able to do that. Tomorrow is the last time I’ll get to fly on Toothless and then what? Berk goes back to being enemies with dragons? Or do we just ignore their existence? They’ve been such a godsend for us, and now they’re being forced to leave!”

“I’m not sayin’ t’ take ‘em for walks –I’m just sayin’ you’re just as hard t’ get ahold of.” Letting out a sigh, she did her best to keep her voice calm and even while unconsciously also running a hand through her hair. “Hiccup, listen: There’s still time; maybe we can go searching-”

“No! No, there is no more time, Thora. This is the end. Dad said no more dragons, and his word is _law_.” He half-glared up at her before turning and starting to walk away. “It’s too late. You can’t help. No one can.” He shook his head. “Just…Just leave me alone.”

She swallowed hard, tears stinging her eyes as she watched his retreating form. Clenching her teeth, she spun around and headed in the opposite direction of him. It didn’t take her long to reach the smithy, its windows boarded up for the night. Not caring if anyone saw or heard her, she tied on her sooty leather apron and went around the forge, rekindling fires, lighting candles, and prepping the crucible by tossing in scraps of iron and pieces of coal.

 

Thora was finalizing the shape on a red-hot ax head when Gobber found her, sweat drenching her clothes and her hair pulled back in a haphazard braid. He frowned, seeing that her eyes were red and watery; she merely wiped the tears away on the back of her hand as she tossed the cooled ax into the forge to reheat.

“Lovey, what in Odin’s name are ya doin’?” he demanded, his brow deeply furrowed.

She glanced back at him as she used a pair of tongs to pull a sword blade from the coals. “I thought I’d get a start on tomorrow’s work,” she grumbled, holding it against the anvil. Grabbing a somewhat smaller and rounded hammer called a fuller, she began to shape the sword’s blood-groove.

Shaking his head, he went over to her, grabbing her hand and pulling the fuller from her grip. She started to protest, but the fatherly look on his face made her fall silent and glance away from her.

“It’s nearly midnight,” he told her, his voice gentle, “an’ it’s obvious you’ve been cryin’. What is goin’ on?” When she remained silent, he sighed. “It’s the dragons, isn’t it?”

“No. Well…kind of.”

Easily plucking her up, he sat her down on a counter. “Then tell your ol’ man why you’ve got rivers flowin’ from your eyes, eh? You’ve got me worried.”

She let out a heavy sigh, still refusing to meet his gaze. “Hiccup an’ I…we got in a fight.”

His frown deepened. “What? The two o’ _you_ got into a fight? Is Ragnarök about t’ begin…?”

“He thinks just because I don’t have a dragon, I’m not upset ‘bout Uncle Stoick exilin’ ‘em! An’ he thinks I should have been more help t’ him an’ the riders in findin’ whoever’s been framin’ in the dragons when he knows damned well can because o’ my apprenticeship! Otherwise, aye! I _would_ have helped ‘em out!” She finally looked at Gobber, her tears flowing anew and her jaw starting to wobble. “He’s bein’ a git, da’.”

A heavy sigh left his mouth and he wrapped his arm around her, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Lovey, ya know Hiccup better than most folk here on Berk –so ya _know_ how passionate he’s been ‘bout tryin’ t’ train the dragons an’ get them t’ be an asset t’ our people.”

“O’ course I know that. But him thinkin’ I don’t care even has me baffled, because I _do_ care. I wanted t’ start arguin’ with Uncle Stoick right then an’ there, but I knew better, especially with how foul o’ a mood he had t’ have been in.” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I didn’t want t’ get banished, too…”

“You know your uncle would never banish you-”

“But he banished the dragons an’ Toothless has become like family t’ him at this point!” She pulled away from him and slid off the counter, moving to toss the sword back in the coals. “An’ how does he expect Toothless t’ survive without Hiccup? He can’t fly without him; he’ll _die!_ ”

He rubbed his forehead, watching as she grabbed the ax head. She turned it on its side and grabbed the tool used to make the holes for handles. “Now, lovey, ya need to calm down an’ try t’ think all this through. I’m fairly certain most o’ the _rational_ folk here on Berk know the dragons aren’t normally the sorts t’ do these things, but you got t’ remember: Stoick is chief an’ as chief, he has t’ do what’s best for his people. Right now, that’s makin’ the people calm.”

Hammering the chisel down into the hot metal, Thora cursed under her breath.

“It doesn’t help that Mildew’s been stirrin’ everyone up lately.”

“He’s probably the one who’s done all this.”

“Well, even if he was, we don’t have any proof an’ you know that, lovey.” He went over to the furnace and, switching out his hook for his pair of tongs, lifted the sword blade out of the fire. “Did ya make this tonight?” he questioned, half his brow raised.

“Cast it a couple o’ hours ago an’ have been workin’ t’ refine its shape an’ tang,” she replied, flipping the ax over when the end of the chisel had gotten through to the other side. “I’m sure we can find _some_ proof that it was Mildew. Footprints or somethin’.”

He took the sword and set it on a stone bench to cool; Thora needed rest, even if she was upset. “That would work if it hadn’t snowed after the first two incidents.”

She cocked a brow as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Da’, I’m talkin’ about around the armory. An’ before ya say that the ground is covered in footprints by this point, only the _front_ part of the armory grounds would have been trampled –no one was tryin’ t’ fight the fire from the back side, an’ that’s where the explosion originated.”

His brow rose and he closed the door to the forge. “Did it now?”

“Aye.” She lightly pushed him aside before tossing the ax into the coals to reheat. “Also, since when did we start storin’ the oil for torches in the armory? That was always kept in the Great Hall, wasn’t it?”

“What do ya mean? We never stored it in the armory.”

“Then how else could a buildin’ explode like that? A dragon the size o’ the Red Death would be needed t’ make a boom that big.”

Once more he frowned, his mind now racing as he realized how true her words were. There was no way Toothless could have made a blast that loud –or one with that sound. Shaking his head, he pulled the tongs from his prosthetic before going to her and setting his hand and stump on her shoulders.

“Lovey, that’s enough for tonight,” he told her. “Tomorrow, ya can pick up where ya left off, but for now, I want ya t’ go home an’ get some food in your belly, alright? You need the rest.”

She glanced between him and the ax head. “I take it I won’t be goin’ t’ Gothi’s for a while, then.”

He nodded. “Aye. I’m goin’ t’ need all the help I can get refillin’ that armory or whatever will be left o’ it.” Kissing her forehead, he pulled the hammer out of her hand. “Now get out o’ here. I’ll clean up. You better be either asleep or eatin’ when I get home, you hear?”

A sigh of defeat left her mouth. “Aye, da’,” she murmured.

Knowing she was still upset, he gave her another hug. “Things will turn out alright, lovey. They always do.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later found Gobber and Thora still working in the forge. They had only finished a handful of weapons –well, at least the blades. Most of them sat without handles or handgrips, Thora doing her best to make sturdy ones with what little wood she had to work with.

“We should probably start dryin’ some more wood soon,” she told Gobber between the strikes of his hammer. “I don’t think I’ve got enough for more than three axes an’ four swords. An’ don’t expect me t’ get any spear shafts made.”

He flipped the sword he was working on over. “That’s no good! If we want t’ get the armory restocked, we’re goin’ t’ need as much wood as possible.”

“Aye, I know. Doesn’t help it usually takes a few months t’ dry the wood. Unless we make a kiln. That’ll dry the wood in less than a week.”

“Then we’ll build a kiln.” Both of them looked up as Stoick entered the smithy, his heavy winter cloak wrapped around his shoulders. “We can’t risk Berk sitting defenseless. We need to be armed. Even a handful of weapons is better than no weapons.”

Gobber cocked a brow, glancing at the chief out of the corner of his eye. “You know, we wouldn’t be defenseless if ya hadn’t sent the dragons away.”

Thora peeked over her shoulder as she pulled the drawknife towards her. It wasn’t often that her father disagreed with Stoick, but whenever he did, she knew things were about to get interesting.

“What was I supposed to do?” Stoick questioned. “The villagers were going t’ form a mob and go after the dragons themselves if I didn’t exile them.” He scratched his beard, letting out a sigh. “I know sending the dragons away is risky, but would ya rather have an angry mob slaughtering them or the dragons safe for the time bein’?”

Shrugging, Gobber moved to pull a red-hot sword from the forge. “You’ve got a point there, I’ll admit. But let’s both be glad we haven’t been attacked –especially by Alvin.”

“Alvin?” Thora repeated, not impressed by his name. “Sounds like the name for a chipmunk…”

“Oh, no –Alvin’s full title is Alvin the Treacherous,” Gobber told her.

“He’s the chieftain of the Outcasts,” Stoick continued. “He’s our oldest and most feared enemy. He knows Berk just as well as any o’ us.”

Gobber nodded in agreement. “As his name implies, he’s a traitor. Used t’ be a Hairy Hooligan until he went against Stoick’s orders. A lot o’ people got hurt that day because o’ him.” He lightly shook his head. “He’s also always seemed to have a knack for knowin’ when the perfect time t’ attack Berk is.”

Stoick raised his brow. “Then let us hope he’s lost that knack.” He went over to Thora, watching as she rotated the length of wood she was cutting. Across from her was the pile of dried wood –well, it was more like two longs and a couple of blocks. “I’ll have Sven and Jorgen get started on a kiln,” he told her, running his hand through his beard. “And I’ll have Linnea chop some wood once an ax is ready.”

Thora frowned, remembering the extent of her wounds. “Linnea? But she shouldn’t be ready for any sort o’ hard work yet. Can’t ya send someone else? I’m sure Spitelout could take down a few trees with just his skull.”

He shook his head. “Linnea’s fully healed,” he told her. “She has been for a while now.”

Her brows remained furrowed. “How?! She was nearly split in two in some places!”

A knowing –and even somewhat amused- expression softened his features. “Because _someone_ pushed herself with her magic an’ managed t’ close up her wounds, that’s how.”

Thora’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment and she looked back down at her work. “Oh…”

Stoick gently patted her on the shoulder. “It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, Thora,” he reassured her. “You saved her life an’ that’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

“Oh, I’m not ashamed. I’m just…rememberin’ the scoldin’ Gothi gave me afterwards,” she partially lied. In truth, she was recalling the nightmares more than Gothi’s scolding. Using her tail, she reached over and grabbed a rasp from the workbench. “By the end o’ today, we should have a few axes ready,” she spoke, wanting to change the subject. “At least, if I don’t ruin what I’m workin’ on.” With the rough shape of the handle carved out, she used the rasp to begin refining its shape.

“Thankfully, that’s hard to do,” Gobber chirped. “The part that’s easily messed up is applyin’ the leather for the handgrip.”

She shook her head. “I’ve been usin’ wire for the handgrips. Takes less time an’ it’s easier t’ manipulate. Plus, I don’t have t’ cut it into strips an’ boil it before usin’ it.”

He thought for a moment. “Huh. You’re right. Good thinkin’, lovey.”

“You act like she hasn’t learned a thing or two from ya over the years, Gobber!” Stoick chuckled. “Thora’s practically been raised in the smithy; she knows how to make weapons.”

“And plenty o’ other things,” Gobber reminded. “Like pots and pans an’ spoons!”

Rolling her eyes, Thora quietly laughed and went back to focusing on her work. She would have much rather been in Gothi’s hut, learning new ways to treat various wounds or being told what concoctions work best on aching body parts, but it was somewhat nice to be working alongside her father again. She had almost started to miss the smells of soot and hot metal, but she could do without the potent combination of hers and Gobber’s body odors.

But, if there was one plus side to being back in the smithy, it was she had no fear of getting thwacked for being sarcastic.

 

When late afternoon came, Gobber let out a heavy sigh and, removing his hammer, haphazardly tossed it onto the workbench. With a small cringe, he rotated his arm, trying to ease some of the stiffness he felt. It had been quite a while since he had done so much work, especially in just two days, and it was making him realize that he wasn’t as young as he once was.

‘Maybe I should think about taking on a real apprentice…?’ he thought, turning to look at his daughter. Her tail was slowly swishing back and forth behind her as she carefully wrapped boiled leather around the wooden handle of a sword. He couldn’t help but smile, remembering the days when she could barely see over the anvils but still insisted on helping him by dragging over his different attachments. ‘Thora does good work, but once we’ve got a few more weapons made, she’ll have to go back to working with Gothi. Not to mention, the possibility of her going to the mainland soon…’ He frowned at the thought, but shook his head, the thought disappearing with the action.

“Lovey, do ya have any o’ that muscle pain tincture let?” he questioned, rubbing his shoulder as it continued to ache.

She shook her head, finishing up the braid of leather. “I’m all out o’ muscle stuff,” she replied, “but I can make ya some poultice, if ya want. I just need t’ get some fresh roots from the forest.”

His brow rose. “Are ya sure, lovey? It’s awful cold out there an’ you’ve been workin’ all day. I can survive one night with a bit o’ an ache –the Æsir know I’ve done it plenty o’ times in the past.”

Thora gave him a reassuring smile –the first honest smile he had seen from her since before her fight with Hiccup. “It’s alright, da’,” she told him. “I could do with a bit o’ fresh air. An’ I’ve got my heavy cloak by the door. I should be fine.”

There was still a hint of frown on his face, but he nodded in defeat. “Aye, if you insist, lovey,” he told her. “I won’t be the one t’ stop ya.” He knew she was well old enough to make decisions on her own –after all, she was nearly sixteen- but at the same time, she was still his little girl and he wanted to keep her safe.

Standing up, Thora handed him the sword she had been working on. “I used leather on this one because I thought it’d help hold the handle together longer than the wire,” she explained, “that, an’ the leather won’t rust like the wire.”

He nodded, smiling. “Good job, lovey,” he told her, closely looking over the hilt. Once he had finished with the sword’s general shape, he had let her finish off the hilt. “Ya know, if ever ya feel like bein’ a witch or a Völva is too much work for ya, I’d be glad t’ keep ya here in the forge.”

She laughed, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. He noticed that, while it covered her torso well enough, it had become too short for her since the previous year –it ended just above her knees. “We’ll have t’ see, won’t we? If I keep growin’ like I have been, I may have no choice but t’ be your assistant.”

“Oh? An’ why is that?” he questioned, the right half of his brow lifting.

“Because I’ll be too big t’ fit in Gothi’s hut.”

He snorted. “You could just sit the whole time,” he jokingly suggested. “Ya can use your tail t’ reach things –you’d be just fine!”

She rolled her eyes, an amused grin on her lips. “Thanks, da’. I’ll keep that in mind should the need arise.” Going over to him, she kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back in time for dinner. Don’t work your arm too much more until then, alright?” Before he could reply, she was heading out the door.

A small sigh left his mouth and Gobber shook his head. “They grow up so fast,” he murmured.

He began to tidy up the shop. It was an easy enough job –putting his attachments away, sweeping the floor, and closing the window- but he went about it slowly. Something was beginning to feel _off_ , but he couldn’t tell what it was.

‘Maybe it’s just me letting Thora go out into the woods while it’s so cold,’ he thought, chasing wood shavings outside with the broom. ‘It is winter, after all. But she’s no dummy; she knows when to quit. It’s _me_ who needs to learn that…Hm. Must’ve been something she inherited from Greta.’

Looking up from his sweeping, he saw Hiccup and Stoick rushing towards them. His brow furrowed; Stoick looked both angry and afraid –not a combination he wanted to see. A few seconds later, the warning horn was blown and the streets started to flood with worried and confused Vikings as they made their way to the Great Hall.

“Gobber! Hiccup just told me he an’ Astrid saw an Outcast ship anchored nearby,” Stoick hastily explained.

“Outcasts?! On Berk?” gaped Gobber.

“They were rowing in from the north; they’re going to land on the Long Beach,” Hiccup added.

Stoick nodded in agreement. “Please tell me you an’ Thora got some o’ the weapons finished.”

He nodded, ushering the two of them into the smithy. “Not many, since we didn’t have enough wood. Two axes an’ two swords. There would have been more, but some o’ the wood had dry rot.”

“Doesn’t matter. So long as we have _somethin’_ to fight them with.”

Gobber went and collected the weapons, glancing over his shoulder. “Ya said they were goin’ t’ land on the Long Beach?” he questioned. Hiccup and Stoick could see that his skin had grown pale and there was a hint of panic on his face. He handed the two axes to Stoick.

Hiccup nodded, taking the swords as they were handed to him. “Not sure how many of them there were, but the main ship was huge. Big enough to hold at least fifty men for sure.”

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his hand. “Odin help me,” he mumbled.

Stoick’s frown grew. “Gobber? What’s wrong?”

“Thora’s out there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Thora wore a small, triumphant smirk as she dug into the partially-frozen earth. Beneath the safety of the trees, the ground remained free of snow, though the frost had managed to latch onto the first few inches of soil. Using the blade of her dagger, she was able to easily carve her way through the dirt and get at the roots hibernating nearly a foot below the surface.

‘This is much better than being hunched over ax handles all day,’ she thought, using her fingers to pull some of the earth from the hole. ‘Even if it is cold as Skaði’s ti-’

“Ouch!” she quietly hissed, shaking her hand. In her vigorous digging, she had jammed her fingers against an unseen rock. Her nose scrunched up in distaste, she squinted through the dim light, inspecting her hand for blood. Seeing none, she let out a sigh of relief. “Guess I deserved that,” she mumbled. “Don’t use the winter goddess’ name in vain when you’re stuck out in the snow…”

Shaking her head, she dug down just a few more inches. She gripped the above-ground portion of the plant and began to wiggle it back and forth. Then, after a few minutes, the whole thing came loose and fell into the hole she had dug. Uttering a prayer of thanks to the gods, she bashed it against the ground a few times, sending large clumps of earth flying but also freeing the roots.

She was trimming the roots from the stem when she stopped, hearing many voices some ways away on the road. Her brow rising, she finished her task and quickly shoved the root into her bag before quietly climbing into one of the trees. Using their limbs as stepping stones, she made her way to the path, crouching on one of the larger branches when she had a clear view.

“What the…?” she whispered, seeing the elders and the children of Berk hastily making their way along the path.

“Come along now!” a familiar voice gently ushered. “It’s not much farther now; the caves are about half a mile away!” Mulch appeared beneath her, helping an elderly woman over a large root in the road. “It should be a bit warmer in the caves; if it’s not, we’ll be able to make some fires at the very least.”

‘This isn’t good,’ she thought, brows furrowed as the last of the villagers disappeared from her sight. ‘If they’re heading to Thor’s Beach, then that means there’s something going on in the village. But what? Everything was peaceful just a bit ago!’ Shaking her head, she let out a quiet sigh. ‘I know it’s dangerous to head back to the village alone, but if there are enemies around, I don’t want to be the one to lead them to the caves, either.’

Biting her tongue, she pulled her cloak tighter to her body before blowing into her hands to warm them up. ‘But if I stay out here, I’ll end up freezing. Ugh. I have such lovely options to pick from…’

Her tail twitched behind her as a new sound caught her attention. Peering up the road, she could see the large silhouette of a man hurrying down the path, something being held over his shoulder. As he drew nearer, Thora could see that it was Bucket carrying what seemed to be a stuffed lamb.

But then she heard the people following him. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to see that far ahead, but she could tell that there was a group of at least ten men. One of them was whispering orders for the others to stay quiet.

“Why don’t we just ambush him, Alvin?” one of the men whispered.

“Can’t you see the bucket on ‘is ‘ead? ‘E’s a ‘alfwit. We’ll just let ‘im lead us t’ the others,” the leader replied. “An’ _maybe_ we’ll find the dragon conqueror amongst them.”

Thora rolled her eyes in a mixture of annoyance and frustration. “Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. ‘Not only is Alvin the Treacherous attacking Berk the _day_ da’ tells me about him, but he’s also looking for _Hiccup_? Either the gods have a strange sense of humor, or sending the dragons away really was bad luck…’

Her brow suddenly rose. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her dagger and felt along its blade to check its sharpness. Despite having been used for a shovel, it remained sharp enough to cut through skin. Alvin and his men were passing below her; he was easily larger than her dad and Stoick, yet if she could get him by surprise…

‘No,’ she scolded herself. ‘Doing stupidly heroic stuff like that is what gets people killed.’ She looked back down at the road, seeing the Outcasts some yards away by that point. ‘But it’s not stupidly heroic if I just follow them…right?’ A bit of a smirk came to her lips before she tucked her dagger away.

She climbed out of the tree and ducked back off the road before following after the Outcasts. It wasn’t hard to trail them; not only were they traveling on a well-worn path, but thanks to her troll-blood, she could keep track of their voices.

Thora followed them for nearly a quarter of a mile, staying hidden until the trees thinned out only to be replaced by a rock wall on one side and a drop on the other. Peeking over the edge, she was unable to see very far, but her ears let her hear the distance voices of the villagers somewhere below. A small grin came to her lips and, after making sure the Outcasts wouldn’t see her, she lowered herself over the side of the cliff, beginning to climb down.

The Outcasts reached bottom before her and had gathered up the frightened Hairy Hooligans. Laying down atop a boulder, Thora pressed herself flat against the stone and slowly crawled forward to watch what was going on. Alvin stood at the head of the group; she couldn’t help but notice that, for once, someone had worse hair than her.

“Now you listen ‘ere,” he told the crowd. “For those o’ you who ‘aven’t figured it out yet, I am the one an’ only Alvin the Treacherous –an’ that title was _earned._ ” He smirked as he saw the children move closer to their elders, quiet whimpers leaving their mouths. “Your leader ‘as abandoned ya. But it’s not Stoick who concerns me; I’m not ‘ere for ‘im. I want the Dragon Conqueror.”

Mildew started to call out something, but Astrid elbowed him hard, knocking the old man unconscious. This drew Alvin’s attention, but Astrid covered up the noise with a skillful lie.

‘Well at least Astrid’s here,’ she thought. ‘If things get messy, at least she, Bucket, and Mulch can help protect the others.’ Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention: Snotlout was stealthily making his way towards Alvin, a small club in his hand.

“You have two choices before you,” Alvin called out, irritation in his voice. “One: You can tell us who the Dragon Conqueror is an’ go back t’ your warm ‘omes. Sounds quite lovely, doesn’t it? Especially since most o’ you don’t seem to be properly dressed for this weather.” He grinned as he heard some of his men –who _were_ properly dressed- snicker.

Snotlout has almost reached Alvin, but as he hopped onto the ledge Alvin stood atop, his must have made some sort of noise. Alvin suddenly spun around, glaring down at the teen; a look of panic came to Snotlout’s face and he quickly held out his club, trembling in fear.

“For you, sir!” he squeaked.

Thora smacked the top of her head before her jaw fell slack; Astrid had thrown what looked to be a stone hatchet at Alvin. He caught it just before it could hit him, amusement on his face.

“My old ‘atchet!” he cackled. “’Aven’t seen this in years!” He turned, watching as Astrid was grabbed by two of his men and dragged before him. “Tryn’ t’ kill Alvin the Treacherous, eh?” He snickered. “You’re not as smart as you look, are you?” he taunted.

Astrid growled, but said nothing as he held the blade to her throat. Thora’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the stone.

“Option two,” he called out, grabbing Astrid by the hair and thrusting her forward, “is the rest o’ you get t’ freeze t’ death while watchin’ us torture this little girl until one o’ you finally snaps an’ tells us what we want t’ know.”

Astrid struggled against the Outcasts. “No one say a word,” she snapped. “Don’t tell him _anything_!”

“I’ll tell him t’ go t’ Hel!”

Alvin spun around just in time to be tackled by Thora, who had launched herself from her hiding spot. In his surprise, he let go of both his hatchet and Astrid, who snatched up the fallen weapon before darting away from Outcasts, standing protectively between them and the Hooligans.

A few cries of panic arose from the Hooligans as the Outcasts gave shouts of ‘Monster! Kill it!’. However, as they drew in, wanting to help their leader, they realized their efforts would be in vain: Alvin and Thora were a fighting, snarling bundle of fur and hair, making it nearly impossible to tell who was who at the moment.

The fight didn’t last long, however. Astrid clenched her teeth as Alvin sat up, keeping Thora pinned to the ground by her neck. Blood was smeared across both their faces, but she could also see blood staining Alvin’s hair near his helmet.

“Well, well! If it isn’t Gobber’s lil’ freak!” he chortled, using his free hand to wipe some blood from his mouth –in reality, though, he merely smeared it across his chin and wrist. “An’ ‘ere I was always told you looked like a monster. Looks t’ me you’re nothin’ more than a wench with bad teeth.”

She snarled at him, her fingers gripping the wrist that held her. “Was thinkin’ the same thing about ya,” she wheezed, smirking despite her predicament, “only, you’re a lot uglier!”

He growled. Still holding her by the throat, he stood up and hoisted her into the air, letting the crowd see her. “Change o’ plans: We’ll torture _this_ one until you tell me who the Dragon Conqueror is!” When still no one answered, he easily threw Thora at the stone wall, watching as she slammed into it before slumping to the ground like a ragdoll. “Tell me!” he snapped.

Thora let out a quiet groan, her entire left side hurting; her shoulder, especially, burned with pain. Slowly, she started to push herself up only to feel cold metal press against the base of her throat.

“Tell me who the Dragon Conqueror is,” Alvin demanded, looking down the blade of his sword at her.

Thora opened her mouth to speak, but someone else beat her.

“Leave her alone!”

She looked up, seeing Hiccup sliding down a rock towards them.

“Hiccup! What’re you doing?!” Astrid cried, stepping forward to try and stop him, but he held his hand out to stop her.

He continued to walk towards Alvin, not breaking eye contact with the larger man. “I’m the Dragon Conqueror,” he told him, his face showing no hint of amusement.

Alvin cocked his brow, but kept the sword point on Thora. “You? Stoick’s little embarrassment?” he snorted.

“I drove the dragons from Berk,” Hiccup continued. “Look around. You don’t see any on this island, do you?”

Astrid, realizing Hiccup’s plan, started to play along. “It’s true!” she vouched. “All the dragons are afraid of him. He even conquered a _Night Fury!”_

“It _is_ true,” Thora groaned before spitting some blood on the ground. “They’re scared o’ him. All o’ them are.”

Alvin rolled his eyes. “You’re bluffin’.”

“Am I?” Hiccup dared to taunt, wearing a bold smirk. “Well, then there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? Take me Dragon Island and I’ll _prove_ that I’m the Dragon Conqueror.”

Snorting, Alvin pulled his sword from Thora’s neck and sheathed it. “Fine then, ‘ave it your way, boy.” He pointed at three of his men. “Stay ‘ere an’ make sure they-” he pointed at the ground, “stay put.”

“You said they could go home if they told ya who the Dragon Conqueror is!” Thora grunted, wincing as she got to her knees.

Turning, he grabbed her hair and yanked back, forcing her to look up at him. “They didn’t tell me who ‘e was, now did they?” he sneered. He shoved her back down onto the ground before going over to Hiccup and grabbing his shoulder, starting to drag him off.

Thora glanced up in time to see Hiccup peeking over his shoulder at her. She managed to give him a small, weak grin before he was pulled out of sight.

Some of the Outcasts were shoved aside as Ylva darted forward, the twins and Astrid following behind her. Falling to her knees, Ylva gently helped Thora to sit upright, her back against the rock wall. A cry of pain left Thora’s mouth as Ylva began to carefully prod her shoulder and arm, searching for breaks or dislocations.

“Is she gunna be alright, mom?” Ruffnut questioned, a worried look on her face.

Tuffnut’s expression matched his sister’s. “Are we gunna have to cut her arm off?” he asked.

Astrid thwacked them both upside the head. “That is _not_ something you ask in front of an injured person!” she scolded.

“It’s not dislocated or broken,” Ylva spoke, talking more to Thora than the others. “You probably tore a muscle in your shoulder. Those tend t’ be the more painful o’ the arm wounds, but at least they heal faster than dislocated shoulders.”

“Feels like my arm an’ neck are on fire every time I move it,” Thora hissed, her eyes clenched in pain. “How is it treated?”

At that, Ylva let out a sigh. “By not usin’ your arm an’ lots o’ salves t’ bring down the swelling. Do ya have any bandages with ya?”

Using her tail, Thora carefully removed her bag before handing it Ylva. “There may be some in there,” she murmured, opening her eyes slightly.

Ylva opened the bag, but couldn’t see in it. “You!” she barked, pointing at the nearest Outcast, who held a torch. “Get over here. I need your light.”

“I don’t take orders from Hooligans,” he snapped.

Narrowing her eyes, Ylva stood up and marched over to him. “Then you’ll _give_ us your light!” she snarled, snatching the torch from his grip. At the same time, she kneed him hard between the legs. “Never back-talk a healer,” she scolded as he doubled over in pain.

The other Outcasts gawked at her, moving themselves away from her in fear. Ruffnut and Tuffnut wore smug grins.

“Hold this for me, love,” she told Tuffnut, her voice soft as she handed him the torch. “Get down low with us; she’s got wounds other than her arm.”

Kneeling down beside Thora, Tuffnut frowned. Now that she was bathed in light, he could see just how much blood there was on her face –some of it still flowing freely. “Man, Thora…Haven’t seen you this beat up in a long time.”

“Yeah. Not since the last time you got ahold of Snotlout,” Ruffnut added, crouching down on her other side. She reached out, pushing some of her friend’s hair out of her face, revealing a black eye.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Astrid sighed. “I’m not saying I’m not grateful –because trust me, I _am_ grateful- but it was a dumb thing to do. You could have gotten killed.”

Thora half-shrugged. “Same could be said for ya. After all, ya threw that hatchet at him.” She tiredly grinned up at her, watching as Astrid’s cheeks turned dark red.

Ylva sighed. “Well, ya do have bandages in here,” she told Thora, “but they’re soaked in oils.” She carefully pulled out the wad of soiled bandages, giving them a squeeze to remove the liquid. “Looks like a few bottles broke durin’ the fight.”

Cursing, Thora tilted her head back. “I needed those…”

“You can always make more?” Tuffnut suggested. He passed the torch to Ruffnut, moving to unpin Thora’s cloak for his mother before helping Thora sit away from the wall.

“I could,” she hissed, pain shooting through her arm as she and Ylva gently forced it to bend against her chest. She held it in place as Ylva started to wrap the still-damp bandages around her arm and neck, doing her best to fashion a sling. “But da’ needed some salve t’ help his sore muscles…all I had t’ do was add some juice from a root t’ one o’ them an’ it would have helped him.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive,” Ylva chuckled. “He’s a tough man, Gobber. He’s lived through far worse than a sore arm.”

Spotting something on the ground a small ways away, Astrid frowned and went to inspect it. Her brow rose; it almost looked like a seashell, but what would one of those being doing over here? Leaning down, she was able to get a better look at the object only to let out a noise of disgust.

“Ugh! There’s part of an ear over here!” she cried, stepping away from it.

“What?” the others chorused.

Thora shrunk back, her cheeks darkening in embarrassment. “It’s…It’s Alvin’s,” she assured them. She winced; her stomach was beginning to feel queasy.

The twins stared at her, their faces filled with a mixture of amazement and admiration. “You bit his ear off?” Tuffnut whispered.

“I had no choice!” she quickly replied. “I had t’ try an’ get the upper hand somehow, so…I bit him. I didn’t mean t’ take his ear _off_ , though!”

“That is so _cool_ ,” Ruffnut murmured, a silly grin on her face. Darting over, she leaned over and closely inspected the ear. “What did it taste like? Did it taste like chicken? Or maybe it’d taste like fish? Is human considered red or white meat?”

“Ruffnut!” Ylva scolded. “That’s an entirely inappropriate—Oh dear.”

Thora had swung herself onto her knees, managing to crawl a few feet away before throwing up.

“Look at what ya did,” Ylva scolded, her hands on her hips as she glared at her daughter. “Ya went an’ made the poor thing sick.” She was more than a little surprised when she saw Tuffnut walk over to Thora and gather up her hair, holding it out of her face. He also helped her stay stable, since she only had one arm to balance on.

Astrid shook her head, going over to Thora and gently rubbing her back as she continued to spill the contents of her stomach. “It could also be the excitement leaving her system,” she suggested. “I know that happens to some people.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a mixture o’ all that,” Thora mumbled. Astrid moved to help her up when she started to shakily rise, but Tuffnut beat her to it.

“I’ve got her,” he quietly told Astrid as he helped Thora to her feet. Slowly, he helped her make her way back to the others, where he sat her down in the same spot.

“Ya know,” Ylva sighed, going through Thora’s bag in an attempt to salvage anything, “all things considered, ya got off fairly unscathed.”

Thora nodded tiredly. “With a title like ‘Treacherous’, I was thinkin’ the same thing,” she chuckled. Her brows furrowed slightly and she tilted her head, hearing a strange noise nearby.

Finding one jar intact, she opened and smelled its contents. It reeked of witch-hazel and lavender, letting her know it would be alright for bruises. “This may hurt a bit, but your bruises need some tendin’ to,” she warned Thora before doing her best to gently apply the salve to her cheek and around her eye.

“Don’t worry. My face doesn’t hurt much,” Thora assured her, keeping her eyes shut. She attempted to concentrate on the strange noise, but the murmuring crowd and Ylva’s talking drowned it out.

“True as that may be, I’m goin’ t’ have t’ put this on your shoulder, too.” Finishing up with Thora’s face, Ylva motioned for Tuffnut to turn around before unclasping the shoulder of Thora’s apron dress. With some help from Astrid, they were able to expose her collarbone and shoulder. Beneath her tunic, Thora’s skin was purple and blue in color. “This _will_ hurt for sure,” she sighed.

Despite having his back to her, Tuffnut offered Thora his hand to squeeze. Grabbing it, she clenched her eyes shut, doing her best to keep from whimpering as even the slightest bit of pressure from Ylva’s fingers sent bolts of fire through her. In contrast, the salve was cool, making her skin tingle as it soaked in.

It was then that Stoick, Gobber, and a group of other warriors burst forth from seeming nowhere. They easily overpowered the few Outcast guards, knocking out all but one.

“Where’s Alvin?” Stoick snarled, holding the last Outcast up by the neck of his tunic.

The Outcast didn’t reply. Instead, he spat in Stoick’s face. In return, Stoick punched him.

With his free hand, Stoick wiped the spit from his face. “I said, _‘Where is Alvin?’_ ” he demanded, eyes narrowed dangerously as he pulled the man closer to him.

“Alvin took Hiccup!” Astrid called.

Stoick looked up, dropping the Outcast. “What!?”

“He gave himself up,” she continued. “They’re on their way to Dragon Island.”

A sigh of relief left Stoick’s mouth. “So he’s safe then?”

“For now, at least,” Gobber told him. “When they get t’ the island, things may change.”

Nodding, the chief turned to the warriors. “Tie up these scum an’ throw them in the jail,” he ordered to half the group. To the other half, he told, “Ready our fastest ship with two catapults and any rocks you can find. We leave within the hour.”

“Great Odin’s Ghost! What happened t’ ya, lovey!?”

Stoick spun around, watching as Gobber ran over to where Astrid stood. Frowning, he hurried over as well, reaching the group in time to see Thora’s injury. His eyes widened in horror.

“I…er…” Thora murmured, her cheeks dark red. She was unable to look up at either her father or uncle. Biting her tongue, she attempted to divert the subject away from her. “Er, I’m not your main concern; Hiccup is. He’s the one bein’ held prisoner.”

Gobber and Stoick wore matching looks of fatherly concern as they looked down at her. “We’ll be goin’ after Hiccup soon enough,” Gobber told her, his voice stern, “but we’re lookin’ at you right now an’ you look like ya fought a bear. What happened?”

Ylva sighed. “She fought Alvin,” she explained, “in order t’ protect Astrid.”

Gobber’s eyes widened, his jaw falling slack. Stoick’s eyes also opened wider, but his mouth remained shut.

“It was awesome!” Ruffnut and Tuffnut chorused.

“Until Alvin won the fight,” Ruffnut sighed, pouting slightly.

“But she bit his ear off!” Tuffnut grinned. He grunted, lurching forward as Astrid elbowed him hard in the gut.

“She did WHAT!?” Gobber cried, staring at Tuffnut. He then looked back at Thora. “Ya did _what_ , lovey!?”

“It was t’ protect Astrid!” she protested. “It’s not like I _wanted_ t’ fight him or bite off his ear –I was tryin’ t’ help my friends!” She sighed, rubbing her face with her good hand.

“Thora, do you know how foolish-” Stoick started, but she interrupted him.

“Look,” she began, finally looking up at the two men, “the two o’ ya can yell at me all ya want later, but right now ya really should be headin’ back t’ the village with everyone else. Hiccup’s the main focus here, _not_ me. I’ll head back, see Gothi, an’ head home t’ await my punishment.”

“She has a point,” Ylva gently told them, rising to her feet. “Hiccup’s being held prisoner and, despite whatever plan he’s managed t’ come up with, he could use your backup more than Thora could use a scoldin’.”

Running his fingers through his beard in irritation, Stoick let out a sigh of defeat. “Both o’ them are right, Gobber,” he admitted, setting his hand on Gobber’s shoulder. “C’mon. Thora’s in good hands for now. We needn’t worry.”

Gobber shook his head, sighing as well. “You rest assured, young lady, that you’re in big trouble when I get back!” he told his daughter before letting the chief lead him away.

Ylva rolled her eyes before helping Thora to her feet. “Like the injuries you’re suffering through aren’t punishment enough,” she murmured. “Tuff, love, bring me her cloak.”

Tuffnut nodded, scrambling to get Thora’s cloak. “Yeah, no kidding. She’s a walkin’, talkin’ ball of pain right now,” he agreed, carefully draping the cloak over Thora’s shoulders.

“Well, it’s kinda your fault she’s in trouble,” Ruffnut told him. “She wouldn’t be in _so_ much trouble if you hadn’t told them she bit off Alvin’s ear.”

He frowned. “I couldn’t help it; that’s an achievement they should be proud of! Not many people can say they bit someone’s ear off.”

“Mikkel Týrson did it.”

“That’s because Mikkel Týrson is scarier than an upset Monstrous Nightmare,” Ylva told them. “Now, the two o’ you run ahead. I imagine you’ll want t’ go with the warriors t’ get Hiccup.”

Ruffnut cocked her brow. “Uh, are you sure…? We can stay and help you with Thora if you want…”

It was Thora who flicked her hand at them in a shooing motion. “Go on. Knowin’ the two o’ ya, I’ll end up throwin’ up again at some point,” she tiredly laughed. “Just make sure ya kick some Outcast arse for me, alright?”

Tuffnut smirked, puffing out his chest proudly. “No worries there, sister! We are the best at kicking butts, especially if they’re larger than ours!”

Again, Ylva rolled her eyes, but she let out a quiet laugh. “Go on, you two. Get out o’ here.”

The twins ran off, leaving Ylva and Thora to take up the rear of the crowd as they headed back to the village. Ylva stuck close to Thora, wanting to be sure that she would be alright. Despite how tired she look, Thora seemed to be walking just fine, though she did need some assistance when her cloak started to slip off her shoulders. After that, they walked in relative silence for some while.

After nearly a quarter of an hour passed, Thora let out a small sigh. “Thanks for helpin’ me back there,” she spoke. “Not just with the injuries, I mean. I mean, er, with my da’ an’ Uncle Stoick, too.”

Ylva nodded in understanding. “The last thing you needed was for two large, scary men t’ be yellin’ at ya for bein’ foolish when you had already fought a man larger than both o’ them.”

She pushed some hair out of her face. “I don’t think I so much fought him as I did wrestle him…”

“You did land a few good blows,” she countered, “besides bitin’ his ear off, that is. I saw his mouth an’ nose bleedin’.”

“I managed t’ head-butt him,” Thora chuckled. “Saw stars afterwards, but it was worth it.”

“He does have a rather thick skull,” Ylva smiled. “But most men do. You’ll learn that as ya get older –an’ family members are no exception. No doubt ya already know how stubborn your father an’ Stoick can be.”

She nodded. “Aye…especially in regards t’ the dragons.” She frowned slightly, glancing out towards the ocean. “I don’t think any o’ this would have happened if Uncle Stoick hadn’t sent the dragons away.” Biting her tongue, she turned her gaze towards the earth. ‘Hiccup and I wouldn’t have gotten in that fight, that’s for sure,’ she thought. ‘When he gets back, I really should talk with him and try to work things out…’

“More than likely, they wouldn’t have,” Ylva agreed, “but the gods have a funny way o’ showin’ us what we need most. Keep that in mind, by the way.” She glanced over at Thora, seeing that she had her brow raised in mild confusion. “It’s somethin’ Gothi told me years ago when Tryggr, my husband, was taken from me.”

Thora frowned. “What could ya possibly have needed that meant takin’ your husband from ya?” she demanded.

“Patience.” A small, wistful smile appeared on her lips. “When I was younger, I was very much like my children: Adventurous an’ extremely impatient. Tryggr was taken before the twins had reached their second birthday, leavin’ me t’ raise ‘em practically on my own. On top o’ that, I had t’ take care o’ Bucket as well.” She let out another laugh. “Let’s just say it was a fast, hard lesson in learnin’ patience. But because o’ it, I have yet t’ throttle Ruffnut or Tuffnut, even when I’m at the end o’ my rope with them.”

At that, Thora snorted. “Aye, ya do have quite a bit of tolerance with them. I’d like t’ think I’ve got a fair bit, but there have been times I’ve snapped at ‘em.”

“I understand. They can be quite…” she let out a disappointed sigh, “raucous at times.”

Thora patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve done a good job raisin’ them, though,” she told her. “I’m sure they would have turned out a lot worse if it had been someone else bringin’ ‘em up.”

Ylva smiled. “Thank-you. That…actually means a lot, really. You’ve not idea how often I hear people callin’ them monsters an’ troublemakers, sometimes even t’ my face. I know they’re not the best behaved teens on the island, but…” She sighed, tucking some hair behind her ear. “They’re not the worst, that I know.”

“Far from it! Have they not seen Snotlout?” Thora snorted. “He has some o’ the worst behavior on the island, aside from his father an’ Mildew.” She blinked, Ylva lightly tugging her away from the group of villagers as they reached the town. “Er…?”

“We’re goin’ t’ see Gothi, remember?” She pointed far above them, at Gothi’s tiny hut. “Best have her look at your arm t’ get it properly treated.”

Thora nodded in understanding. “Aye…rather have her look at it now instead o’ in the mornin’ when she’ll hit me upside the head for not visitin’ her.”

 

* * *

 

 

The warriors left shortly before midnight, leaving Berk on edge. Without weapons or their chief present, many people were worried that the Outcasts would use this chance to properly attack the village. As dawn broke, revealing a fresh layer of snow on the ground and not an Outcast in sight (save for in the jail), the people were able to breathe a small sigh of relief.

But it wasn’t until early afternoon, when they saw a single ship and five dragons on the horizon, that they completely let go of their fear. As soon as the call went out that a ship and dragons had been spotted, the villagers left their homes and rushed towards the docks, wanting to greet the warriors. By the third call, practically everyone was bundled up and waiting for the ship’s arrival.

Thora let out a small curse as she hurried through the nearly-empty streets, struggling to get her cloak clasped into place. Her tail was of little help for this task, being too thick to maneuver the cloak pin and not nimble enough to hold the fur. She had managed to get it haphazardly pinned before she reached the docks, figuring it good enough to keep her warm.

She excused herself as she pushed her way through the crowd, doing her best to not jostle her injured arm. After a thorough scolding from Gothi the previous night, it had been treated properly and was now bandaged against her chest, keeping immobile for the time being. She apologized to someone after accidentally stepping on their foot, but continued to push her way forward until she reached the bottom of the pathway.

And she made it just in time. The riders were just landing their dragons and the ship was being tied to the dock. Cheers and applause filled the air, along with chants of ‘Dragons! Dragons!’. There was a smile on Stoick’s face as he came ashore as he saw his people welcoming the dragons back to Berk once more.

“How’d it go?” Thora questioned once her father had stepped onto the dock.

“Very well,” Stoick answered. “I think it’ll be some time before we see Alvin again.” He put his hands on his hips as he looked at her. “And what about you, young lady? Did ya get your arm treated?”

She nodded, cheeks turning a bit red. “Aye, I did. It’s been bound t’ my torso for now, so it can’t move.”

Gobber nodded in understanding. “Good. An injury like that is goin’ t’ take some weeks t’ heal.” Half his brow rose as he watched his daughter’s gaze fall to the deck. “I hope ya realize what ya did was foolish.”

“I do.”

“An’ that ya could have all-too easily been killed?” Stoick added.

“Aye.”

Gobber was about speak again, but he stepped back in surprise as a blur of green-and-brown ran past him before latching onto Thora. The sternness on his face disappeared when he realized it had been Hiccup.

“Thank the gods you’re alright!” Hiccup squeezed Thora tightly as he hugged her, his eyes clenched shut. Thankfully, he was at least a foot shorter than her, so her injuries weren’t disturbed by his squeezing.  

Thora blinked, taken aback by the sudden hug. She soon smiled, however, and returned the hug, albeit one-armed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she chuckled.

“You didn’t look fine last night,” he frowned, looking up at her. “Not when you were lying on the ground, covered in blood and not moving!”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Alright, ya got me: I’m not _entirely_ fine, but I’m alive, at least.”

He finally stepped back, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you the other night,” he told her. “I regretted it the moment it left my mouth, but I was just too upset to turn around and apologize.”

Thora nodded in understanding, a small smile on her lips. “Aye, I know. Not goin’ t’ say ya didn’t hurt me –because ya did- but I know _why_ ya said all that. But-” She pulled him back for another hug, using her tail to ruffle his hair “-I accept your apology. Just promise me that next time ya get worked up like that, ya _don’t_ take your anger out on me, eh?”

Hiccup grinned, trying to fix his hair. “Promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Uncle Stoick? Ya called for me?” Thora poked her head into Stoick and Hiccup’s house, looking around for her uncle before stepping fully inside the house. Coming inside and letting her eyes adjust, she could see Stoick carving some wood near the hearth.

He looked up, a small smile behind his mustache. “Ah, Thora! I’m surprised you could come so soon; I thought you had lessons?” He motioned for her to sit on a stool across from him.

“I did, but with this cold weather, Gothi’s been fairly sore an’ cranky,” she explained, sitting down and unclasping her cloak. She let it fall to the floor behind her. “Which isn’t fun for either o’ us, even if she does use the peppermint oil we made.” She half-shrugged, using her tail to pull her hair out of her face while she held her uninjured arm towards the fire.

He chuckled, giving a small nod. “She is getting up there in years, so it’s understandable. But, speakin’ of her, Gothi’s actually the reason I called ya here.” Setting aside his carving tools, he brushed the wood shavings from his lap before sitting upright.

Thora raised her brow. “…Am I in trouble?” she questioned. “You’re not goin’ t’ scold me for fightin’ Alvin again, are ya? Because between you, da’, an’ the rest o’ Berk, I’ve had-”

He held up his hand, silencing her with a small laugh. “No, no. I know you’ve learned your lesson well enough by now. This is something entirely different - _an’_ it pertains t’ your training as a future Völva.” Standing up, he moved to add another log to the fire.

She cringed. “Uh-oh.”

Stoick ignored her comment as he returned to his seat. “As you know, tomorrow the Berserkers will be arriving for the annual treaty signing. Normally, Gothi would be present for such things, but I spoke with her yesterday and we agreed that, this year, you will take her place.”

Her brow rose. “Er…are ya sure this is a good idea?” she questioned. “What if somethin’ goes wrong an’ I end up tacklin’ someone?”

“It is a good idea,” he told her, his brow rising, “because this will give ya the chance t’ see what it’s like to be a Völva. Since Oswald the Agreeable is so…well, _agreeable_ , it’ll be an ample opportunity for you to get to know an’ speak with another chieftain. In turn, it’ll give you the chance to learn how he thinks, giving you insight as to how he may react to different situations in the future.”

She bit her tongue, glancing away. “That doesn’t sound too hard, actually,” she murmured, “so long as he leaves his son back in Berserker Bay, that is. Don’t know how that man fathered such a…such a violent an’ cocky prick.”

“I know,” Stoick agreed. Thora was more than a little surprised when he didn’t scold her for her language. “He’s not the kindest o’ people, but even if he does come along, we have t’ tolerate him, lest we accidentally start a war, do you understand?”

She shrugged and innocently glanced away from her uncle, a hint of a grin coming to her lips. “We _could_ make it look like an accident…” Any amusement on her face instantly disappeared when she saw the stern look on Stoick’s face. “Or we could treat him with the kindness an’ hospitality we Hairy Hooligans are known for!”

“As I was sayin’,” he continued, his brow raised, “you will be present for the whole thing: Their arrival, the feast, the signin’, an’ their departure. If all goes well, they will be arrivin’ tomorrow morning an’ leaving the morning o’ the next day.”

She nodded in understanding. “Is Hiccup goin’ t’ be present, too?”

Stoick chuckled. “You think I wouldn’t torture you without torturin’ him as well, do you?” he joked. “He’ll be joinin’ us.” He scratched his beard, a thoughtful look coming to his face. “But, ah…there was one, small favor I was hopin’ t’ ask of you…” Standing up once more, he went over to a large chest under the stairs.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a confused look coming to her face. “An’ that would be?”

“Do ya think you’d be able t’ get your da’ to take a bath before tomorrow?” There was desperation in his voice. “I know it’s been snowin’, not rainin’, lately and with how much Gobber’s been working in the forge, he just…Well, I’m sure you know.”

“Oh gods, do I!” she laughed. “I tried t’ throw some clove oil on him a few days ago t’ make him smell better, but he caught me. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll _try_ t’ get him t’ bathe.”

“Even if you’re only able t’ cover him in lavender oil while he sleeps, it’d be a vast improvement.” Turning around, Thora saw he now held a long, thin box made of cedar wood. It was plain, yet she had the feeling something vaguely important lay within. “Now. We can’t have you, our future Völva, wearin’ those rags to the treaty signing tomorrow. As such, I want you t’ have this.” He set the box on the table for her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to open it with just the one arm.

Her brow rising, she curiously went over to the table and opened the box. Inside laid a neatly folded dress of dark grey linen and a heavily-beaded apron dress of indigo velvet. Pulling them out of the box, she saw that both would fit her rather well –if anything, they would be slightly too _big_ for her. Her eyes widening, she looked over at her uncle in shock.

“Is this the dress ya wore when you an’ da’ disguised yourselves as women t’ sneak into the Bashem Oik feast?” she questioned.

At that, Stoick burst out laughing. “Did that ol’ rascal really tell ya about that?” She nodded, making him shake his head in mirth. “No, no…This isn’t from then. Trust me, ya wouldn’t want t’ see _that_ dress. No. This dress had been meant for Valka.”

Thora paled, her jaw falling slack; it was well known that Valka was his deceased wife. “I-I can’t take this, uncle!” she cried, doing her best to fold it back up.

“An’ why not?” he demanded, his brow rising.

“The dress belonged t’ your wife! It should go t’ Hiccup’s future wife –not t’ me! I mean, I never knew her an’ she never knew me, so it’d be a shame-”

He set his hand on her uninjured shoulder. “You needn’t worry ‘bout sentimental value,” he assured her. “It had been made before anyone on Berk had met her. You see, Valka was o’ Bog Burglar birth an’ they’re all…well, they’re _slighter_ than our women. Not keepin’ this in mind, the seamstress made the dress _much_ too big for her. The only reason Valka saved it was because she thought it was too pretty to give away to a stranger.” There was a warm, tender smile on his face as he looked over at the dress. “I’m sure if she had known ya, she would agree that the dress should go to you, Thora. You deserve it, after all, especially after what ya did for Astrid last week.”

Her cheeks ablaze with awkwardness, Thora bit her tongue and glanced away. “But it _looks_ like it’s been made for an _important_ woman.”

Stoick gently tilted her head so that she looked him in the eye. “Thora. Not only are you a Völva-in-training, but you’re my niece. My _family_. If that doesn’t make you important, then I don’t know what does.”

Thora’s eyes began stinging, tears filling them. Biting her tongue, she threw herself at her uncle, wrapping her good arm around him and squeezing him tightly; her injured arm protested, but she ignored it. A lump in her throat kept her from saying anything, but when Stoick hugged her in return, she knew he understood her thankfulness.

 

* * *

 

 

Gobber hummed to himself as he walked home from a long, sweaty day in the forge. Now that he had recruited Silent Sven, Phlegma the Fierce, and Hoark the Haggard to help him in the smithy in Thora’s place, he was making great time replacing all the lost weapons. A kiln had been built outside his shop, allowing for nearly half a tree’s worth of wood to be dried at the same time. This gave off plenty of wood for axe handles, sword hilts, and spear shafts –and, unexpectedly, shields.

Throwing open the door to his house, he was more than a little surprised to find Thora tending to the hearth, her hair damp and pulled back in a tight braid. His brow rose; she wasn’t due home for another hour or two.

“Lovey? What’re you doin’ here?” he questioned, unclasping his cloak and hanging it by the door.

“Uncle Stoick summoned me earlier today, so Gothi just gave me the rest o’ the day off,” she explained, brushing some bits and pieces of wood from her clothes. “How’d work go in the forge?”

“Excellent! Phlegma has started work on makin’ axe handles while Hoark is in charge o’ swords. Sven has been helpin’ me make the weapons.” He took off his helmet, setting it on the table before getting himself a mug of ale. “What’d your uncle want?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching as he sat down at the table. “I’m takin’ Gothi’s place tomorrow,” she answered.

“Are ya now?” he laughed. “Well, that’s wonderful! You’ll get some firsthand experience on what it’s like t’ be in Gothi’s boots, then!”

“That’s exactly why I’m takin’ her place.” She sat down across from her father, adjusting the binding on her injured arm somewhat. “He also gave me a present.”

“Ooh, a present! An’ it’s not even close t’ your birthday!”

Thora cocked her brow. “Da’, we don’t _know_ my birthday,” she reminded him, her tone dry. “Anyway, he gave me one o’ Valka’s dresses.”

Gobber stared at her, spilling a bit of ale on his chest. “He…He gave ya _what_?”

She nodded. “That was basically my reaction, too,” she chuckled, “but he assured me that he wanted me t’ have it. Apparently, it was much too big for her t’ ever wear, though she didn’t want it goin’ off t’ a stranger.”

Half his brow slightly rose. “Is it the grey one with the blue overdress?” he questioned. “Or the yellow one with the green robes?”

“The first one.”

He nodded in understanding. “Good, good…The yellow one was her maternity dress. Wouldn’t need ya walkin’ around in that, would we?” He quietly laughed. “Don’t know if Stoick would still have that thing, though. I’m surprised he even had the grey dress!”

She half-shrugged. “Well, they did belong t’ his wife…I imagine he wanted t’ keep some sort o’ memory o’ her about.”

“Good point, lovey.” Draining his mug of the last of its contents, he stood up and started to head for the pantry. “So, what did ya spend the rest o’ the day doing?”

Thora spun around on her stood, watching as he hobbled across the house. “Eh, took a bath an’ then went to Ruff an’ Tuff’s t’ have them braid my hair.”

“I was wonderin’ how ya managed t’ do tha—AAH!”

A mischievous grin spread across Thora’s face as she watched her father trip over a rope she had strung across the pantry doorway. He hopped forward a few feet, managing to turn himself around before he splashed backwards into a tub full of nice, hot bathwater.

“Ha! It worked!” she cackled, jumping to her feet. Rushing forward, she used her tail to snatch up a bottle of liquid from the pantry counter before turning it over, dumping the entirety of its contents onto her father. “Now ya _have_ t’ take a bath!” she laughed, watching as he squirmed about and created a soapy lather.

“Lovey!” he pouted, water dripping off the end of his nose. “How could ya betray me like this? Ya know we Vikings are _supposed_ t’ smell bad!”

“Not when important ceremonies are takin’ place tomorrow, they don’t,” she firmly told him, putting her good arm on her hip. Once more using her tail, she picked snatched up a scrub brush, also from the counter, and held it out to him. “Now, you had best scrub yourself very well, da’, or else I’ll go fetch Gothi t’ make _sure_ ya scrub.”

He shuddered at the thought, pushing himself upright. “Alright, alright. Ya win this time,” he told her, snatching the brush from her hand. “But rest assured, lovey, this isn’t happenin’ again for another six months!”

“If ya say so, da’,” she chuckled, closing the door to the pantry so he could bathe in peace.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning was cold, but unusually bright and sunny. As Thora made her way to the docks, she pulled her cloak closer around her as she looked around.

‘Gothi would say this is a good omen,’ she thought, having to squint to keep her eyes from watering. The snow was almost blinding thanks to the sunlight. ‘Not so sure if I agree, since I can hardly see a thing…’

Peering out towards the ocean, she could see the Berserker ships slowly drifting nearer and nearer. She shuddered, whether from the cold or from the sight of so many ships, she didn’t know. Regardless, she stopped for a moment by a brazier filled with firewood and flames. A sigh left her mouth as she held her hand out to the fire, enjoying the warmth it gave off.

Her brow rose as she watched Ruffnut storm by; Tuffnut was nowhere in sight, making her worry slightly. “Ruff?” she called. “What’s wrong?”

Pausing in her steps, Ruffnut turned. “That idiot I’m forced to call my _brother_ is what’s wrong!” she replied, her lips drawn back in a snarl. “Do you have _any_ idea how frustrating it is having him for a brother, let alone a _twin_?” She growled, kicking at the snow.

She bit her tongue, knowing that this could only mean trouble was coming. “Er…well, aye, he can be a bit o’ a jerk sometimes…” she replied.

“Sometimes?! SOMETIMES!? Thora, you don’t have to live with the guy!” she cried, throwing her arms out. “He’s constantly nagging at me because I didn’t groom my half of _our_ well-groomed stuffed yak or because I’m ‘hogging’ _our_ spoon! And when he’s not nagging, he’s doing gross guy stuff like farting or belching all the time or working out in the rafters.” She ran her fingers into her hair and pulled at it in frustration. “Ugh! I’m sick of it and I’m sick of him! I can’t deal with it anymore.”

Cautiously, Thora made her way towards her friend and patted her on the shoulder. “Well, why don’t ya get another spoon an’ well-groomed yak?” she suggested. “An’ I’m sure if ya hit him hard enough, he’ll stop fartin’ an’ belchin’ around ya.”

Ruffnut shook her head, growling once more. “No. You don’t get it, Thora. You don’t have a twin or a brother or whatever. You’ve _Hiccup_ for a demi-cousin and that’s like ending up with the god of politeness!”

“I…can’t really argue with ya there,” she admitted, “but is Tuffnut really worth gettin’ _this_ worked up over? What did he even do t’ get ya this mad?”

“He exists, that’s what!” She shook her head, stepping away from Thora. “Well, he can do whatever he likes now. I’m going to my dark, soggy alone place and I ain’t ever comin’ back. Except sometimes for food.” She started to storm off once more, but Thora stopped her a second time.

“Aren’t ya goin’ t’ take a cloak or somethin’ with ya?” she demanded, her hand on her hip. “It’s the middle o’ winter; you’ll freeze!”

“My seething anger will keep me warm.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora unclasped her cloak and tossed it at Ruffnut. “Aye, but you’re takin’ that just in case your ‘seething anger’ dies down an’ turns t’ ‘mewling pouting’,” she ordered.

Ruffnut made no reply; instead, she grumbled to herself and carried the cloak over her shoulder as she stomped away.

Shaking her head, Thora let out a sigh as she ran a hand over her braids. “What in Midgard has her so worked up?” she murmured. “I’ve _never_ seen her this upset…”

A quick glance back at the ocean made a curse leave her mouth –the Berserkers were almost to Berk. She sprinted away from the brazier, making her way towards the docks and praying that she would make it before the ships docked.

Luck, however, wasn’t _quite_ on her side.

As she reached the top of the walkways leading down to the water, she could see the first of the Berserker ships pulling up the docks. Biting her tongue, she started running, letting out an occasional curse as her arm was jostled. With just one turn in the walkway left and the Berserkers still working on tying up their ship, she hopped over the edge of the wooden path, landing with a small ‘thud’ between her father and Hiccup, startling them.

“S-sorry I’m late,” she wheezed, standing upright. “I r-ran into—into a p-problem.”

Gobber frowned, seeing the lack of weather protection around her shoulders. “Lovey, what happened t’ your cloak?”

“Loaned it t’ the problem. I’ll tell ya later.”

Hiccup tugged on her sleeve and she leaned over. “Does your problem happen to have blonde hair, four horns on their helmet, and is a twin?”

She glanced over at him. “Gee, how _ever_ could ya guess?” she murmured. “Do you know what’s up with them?”

“They got in a fight yesterday; that’s all I know,” he sighed. “And now their Zippleback is on the loose and we can’t catch it, let alone control it.”

“Uh-oh. That…isn’t good…” She let out a small yelp, cringing as a loud horn was suddenly blown from the Berserker ship.

One of the soldiers stood up, holding aloft a forked spear as he began to call out, “Presenting the high chief of the Berserker tribe: _Cracker_ of Skulls, _Slayer_ of Beasts, the _Great_ and _Fearsome_ -”

“Oswald the Agreeable?” Gobber mumbled, half his brow rising and his eyes widening.

“- _Dagur the Deranged_!” Stepping aside, the soldier revealed the sight of the young man, who was barely two years older than Hiccup and Thora.

He spat on the ground before turning and facing the Hairy Hooligans standing before him, letting out an almost malicious chuckle.

“Dagur?” Stoick gasped.

“Deranged?” Gobber murmured, a horrified look coming to his face. He glanced at Stoick, seeing the chief wearing the same shocked expression as him.

“Oh no,” Hiccup groaned, slouching forward slightly.

Thora bit her tongue, her tail drooping to the ground. “Perfect…” she mumbled, her eyes wide.

Stoick cleared his throat before taking a step forward. “Dagur, where is your father?”

Dagur looked at his nails in a bored fashion. “My father has been…retired,” he casually explained. “He lost his taste for blood. I, on the other hand, am _starving_.” He smirked down at the Hairy Hooligans –none of them enjoyed seeing the bloodlust that filled his green eyes.

‘Oh, this is wonderful,’ thought Thora. ‘He’s somehow gotten _worse_ than the last time he was here! How is that even possible?’

Sauntering down the gangplank, Dagur came ashore and looked around, his hands on his hips. “Now, where are you hiding them, Stoick?”

Stoick frowned and raised a brow. “Hiding what?” he questioned.

“Do I look stupid to you?” the Berserker questioned, his own brows furrowed together.

Gobber leaned over. “Trick question, **don’t** answer it,” he whispered to Stoick.

Having not heard the blacksmith’s words, Dagur continued. “We both know what’s going on here.” He casually waved a hand at the village above them. “I have it on _excellent_ authority that you’re amassing an army of dragons.”

Stoick narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “‘Excellent authority’? An’ just whose authority would that be, Dagur?”

He shrugged and glanced away, putting a hand on his hip. “Never mind. Just know that if I find it to be true, then my _armada_ will attack with the force of a thousand brave Berserker soldiers.” He grinned, motioning to the horizon, where dozens upon dozens of ships floated, awaiting his signal should something go wrong.

“Stand down, Dagur,” Stoick calmly ordered. “There won’t be any need for the armada. Now let’s get to the treaty, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” he agreed, still smirking as he looked over the four Hooligans before him. “According to the treaty, my visit starts with a tour of Berk –the armory, the feast in the Great Hall, the killing arena—” He suddenly paused, his brows slightly furrowing as his gaze fell on Thora. They then rose and his head tilted to the side, an almost silly grin replacing the malicious smirk. “ _Thora?_ Is that _you_?” he questioned.

She blinked, suddenly feeling everyone’s attention on her. Her cheeks started to grow a bit warm. “Er…aye?” she replied, her tone filled with confusion. “Pretty sure there aren’t any other half-trolls on Berk…”

He went over to her, having to look up to see her face. “Look at you!” he grinned, motioning to all of her. “The last time I saw you, you were scrawnier than a shaved sheep! Now, it’s as if Freya herself has blessed us with her presence!”

Thora stared at him, a brow raised and her jaw slack in bewilderment. “Er… _What_?”

Using the momentary distraction to his advantage, Hiccup ran off, wanting to warn the others of the trouble that they were in. He silently apologized to Thora, but if Dagur was the new chief of the Berserkers, things were about to get dicey.

“I know, I know –you must hear that _all_ the time,” he told her, oblivious to her confused expressed, “but by the gods, Thora, you have aged _well_!” He winked, the impressed smirk still on his lips.

Gobber cleared his throat, setting his hook on Thora’s shoulder and gently pulling her away from Dagur. “Shall we get started with the tour then?” he suggested, trying to get Dagur’s attention away from his daughter.

“Yes, the tour,” he chuckled. Gobber’s attempt hadn’t worked very well, as Dagur hooked an arm around Thora’s arm and pulled her back towards him with the intention of walking aside her. “Lead the way, gorgeous,” he told her, attempting to put on a handsome smile.

Thora, however, was able to side-step away, managing a small, albeit nervous, giggle. “I think that’s somethin’ best left for Uncle Stoick t’ do,” she told him before darting behind Gobber.  ‘The gods must hate me,’ she thought, shuddering, ‘because of course the _one_ person who will ever find _me_ attractive is Dagur the _Deranged_ …’

She followed behind her father as Stoick started to lead the group up the walkway. Once in a while, Dagur would glance back at her, ignoring whatever it was Stoick was trying to tell him. In return, Thora pretended to be too busy readjusting the binding on her arm.

“Thora,” he asked as they neared the top of the walkway, “how did you get injured?” There was something about his tone of voice she didn’t like, almost as if he already _knew_ how she had come by her injury. “That doesn’t seem like an easily-acquired injury. Dislocated shoulder, perhaps? Or is it a torn muscle?”

Regardless, she glanced up, her cheeks darkening once more. “Oh, er…torn muscle. I, ah…was sparring with da’ last week,” she half lied. “Got a lil’ overzealous an’ well, wouldn’t ya know? I paid the price.”

He nodded in understanding, lightly shoving Gobber aside so he could walk alongside Thora. Whether he believed her or not, she couldn’t tell. “Ah, yes…I know the thrills of fighting all-too well. Sometimes, you can’t help but push yourself beyond your limits just to see if you can!” He let out a cackle before suddenly regaining a calm demeanor. “I always had the feeling you’d make a good warrior –well, at least ever since you left that lovely scar on my leg.”

She swallowed hard, remembering many years ago when she had bitten his calf –in her anger, she had come very close to tearing a chunk out of it and _nearly_ starting a war if Oswald hadn’t been so understanding of the situation. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t deserved it; he had attempted to lure Hiccup into a bear’s den. If she hadn’t bitten him, his plan may have worked…

“Funny thing, actually –I’m _not_ a warrior,” she told him, hoping he would be disappointed and find her less interesting. “I’m in trainin’ t’ be Berk’s next Völva.” She inwardly smirked when she saw his face fall.

“Is that so?” he commented. “What a shame! I’m sure you could easily rip out a man’s throat with those beautiful tusks of yours. Or even a dragon’s throat –that is, _if_ you still kill dragons on this island.” He narrowed his eyes somewhat, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.

“O’ course we still kill dragons,” Thora retorted, narrowing her eyes in return. “Who d’ya think we are? _Cowards_?”

Dagur smirked up at her, opening his mouth to say something, but Gobber suddenly stepped between them.

“First stop o’ the tour!” he declared, pointing up at the large building that Thora knew to be Berk’s food storehouse. “This is our food storage. It’s where we, well-”

“Oh, oh! Let me guess!” Dagur sarcastically begged. “It’s where you store your food. _B-o-o-oring_!” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to see the dragon killing things!”

“I’m afraid our armory is being rebuilt,” Stoick told him, his brow raised. Gobber and Thora could tell his patience was wearing thin with Dagur and his violent attitude. “It was recently destroyed in a dragon attack.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, at least.

Seeing a hint of a grin coming to the Berserker’s lips, Thora quickly added, “That’s not t’ say we _don’t_ have weapons. If ya just follow da’, he’ll lead ya over t’ his workshop, where the weapons are bein’ temporarily stored.” As she spoke, she could hear a small commotion taking place across the village –it sounded quite a bit like a dragon. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I forgot my cloak an’ I’m a wee bit cold. Let me go grab it an’ I’ll meet back up with you three later.”

Stoick gave her a small nod of thanks, a bit of a smile on his lips as she darted off.

‘I am fairly certain Gothi never had to deal with a treaty signing like this,’ she thought, hurrying through the center of the village. She paused for a moment, her brows furrowed as she saw fresh Zippleback tracks in the snow. ‘If those belong to Barf and Belch, I’m going to get Gothi’s staff and thwack the twins…’ Continuing on her way towards the ruckus, she rounded a few corners only to let out a curse.

There were Hiccup and Astrid, both teens pushing on the hindquarters of an extremely familiar Hideous Zippleback.

“What is goin’ on?” Thora cried.

“The twins are fighting,” Astrid grunted, trying to get Barf and Belch to move. It was, however, to no avail. “And they refuse to work with each other to fly their dragon!”

Thora groaned, smacking her forehead. “Great. It’s a good thing da’ an’ Uncle Stoick are leadin’ Dagur t’ the _other_ side o’ the village right now…Have either o’ ya talked with them?”

“We’re going to talk to them when we get Barf and Belch out of the village,” Hiccup told her. He then let out a yelp, slipping on some ice. Thora cursed and lurched forward, snatching the back of his vest before he could face-plant in the snow. “Thanks…”

Sighing, she ran a hand over her hair. “Look. I’ll handle Barf an’ Belch –the two o’ ya need t’ cover their tracks before ya see Tuffnut. Make snow Valkyries over them or somethin’; Dagur _can’t_ know there are still dragons here.”

“How’s that going, by the way? Is he still flirting with you?” Hiccup questioned, holding onto her arm as he picked some bits of snow and ice off the bottom of his peg-leg.

Astrid cocked a brow. “Wait, Dagur’s flirting with you?” she questioned, looking at Thora.

“Sadly.” She shuddered. “Da’ an’ Uncle Stoick are goin’ t’ show him the smithy, since that’s where our weapons are bein’ stored for now. Gods only know he should get a thrill out o’ all the sharp objects…”

“Ugh…Now I don’t know who’s in a worse situation: Us or you,” Astrid murmured, rotating her arm. She let out a small sigh of relief as her shoulder made a loud popping noise. “But, uh, how do you plan on dealing with Barf and Belch? We can’t get them to move for anything!”

Thora shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard.” Once Hiccup let go of her, she walked in front of the dragon. Both heads gently and affectionately nudged her, earning a quiet laugh from her. “C’mon, boys,” she murmured, slowly waving her tail in front of their heads. They watched it intently, starting to follow her as she began walking away from the village. “Just got t’ know what they like.”

“You are a life saver,” Hiccup sighed. “We owe you.”

“I’ll hold ya t’ that,” she grinned. Quickening her pace, she made sure to keep her tail just out of reach of Barf and Belch. ‘The last thing I need right now is for my tail to have dragon teeth marks…’ she thought.

When they had reached the cover of the forest, she scrambled into a tree –having some difficulties thanks to her arm- and hopped around from one tree to another and then back to the first, confusing the dragon below. Then, remaining as quiet as possible, she grabbed an old bird’s nest and threw it in the opposite direction of the village. Barf and Belch darted after the noise, hoping they would finally be able to catch the elusive half-troll tail.

Finding a shattered bird’s nest instead did not amuse them. Barf blew gas at it in frustration and Belch lit the gas. They watched as the nest burst into flames thanks to their combined efforts. The dragon then jumped on the thing, beginning to trample it.

Belch, however, ceased his half of the stomping when he heard the faintest sound of snow crunching. Looking behind them, he could see the retreating form of Thora running out of the forest. He bonked his conjoined brother with his horn before motioning behind them. Then, staring each other in the eye for a moment, they spun around and started to follow after her.

Hunting sensed engaged, they made sure to fly high into the air once they were out of the trees. They stalked Thora from afar, hoping she would tire herself out before long. But, while her pace did slacken once she got in the village, she continued moving, making her way through the streets and towards the Great Hall.

With the dragon so high up, Thora was unable to hear them. She paused for a moment outside the Great Hall to catch her breath, able to hear the conversation taking place inside.

“So, ah, Dagur…What are some o’ your _deranged_ plans for the Berserker tribe?” Gobber questioned.

“Return my people to their former glory, first and foremost,” replied Dagur. “It will take some time to get my soldiers back up to snuff on their fighting skills, as they’ve been slack in their training the last few years, but I’m hoping after a few bloody skirmishes, they’ll be back in shape.”

“And, ah…what about treaties with other tribes? Do ya plan on makin’ any more o’ those?” asked Stoick.

“Perhaps. I’ve a few in mind that would create strong alliances…Berk, quite possibly, being one of them.”

“We’ve given you no reason to not trust us, Dagur.”

“So far, that holds true. And it may continue to be such. But, you know…” His tone had taken on a somewhat hopeful tone. “There are ways to strengthen the bonds of friendship between our tribes. _Unite_ them in ways that would make betraying one another almost impossible…”

Stoick did not sound at all pleased as he dared to ask, “…What are you suggesting, Dagur?”

Dagur chuckled. “Oh, nothing much. Just, that now that I’m chieftain, I happen to find myself looking for a wi-”

Deciding it best to end the conversation there, Thora threw open the doors to the Great Hall. The men across the hall jumped, startled by her sudden entrance; she, meanwhile, shivered as she was met by the sudden onslaught of heat. As she shut the doors, she realized just how cold she was and she hurried over to the fire, holding her hand out towards the warmth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see both Hooligan and Berserker warriors replacing weapons in their sheaths.

“Ah! Thora, I was wondering where you had run off to!” Dagur chirped. His brow then rose. “…I thought you had run off to get your cloak?”

She glanced up, thankful her cheeks were already red from the cold. “Er…turns out, I couldn’t find it. I must’ve left it at one o’ my friends’ houses yesterday.” She swished her skirts around, freeing them of the snow that had stubbornly clung on.

Gobber stood up, moving to get her some food and warm cider. “We were just discussin’ Dagur’s plans for the Berserker tribe,” he called over. “Apparently, we’re not the only ones he has in mind t’ make treaties with.”

“So long as he doesn’t ally himself with our enemies, I see no problem with that,” she commented, not wanting to let them know she had eavesdropped. With her skirts now snow-free, she let out a small sigh and looked around for a spot at the table.

Dagur eagerly shoved his second-in-command off his stool and shoved his food aside, motioning for her to sit by him. She swallowed hard, seeing no other seat available as well as the upset look on the Berserker soldier’s face as he grabbed his plate and went back to eating on the floor.

With caution filling her mind, she sat down beside Dagur, attempting to be as subtle as possible in her attempts to scoot away from him. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, as Gobber blocked her from sight for a moment while placing food in front of his daughter. He patted her good shoulder apologetically before moving to return to his seat.

Thora snatched up the mug of slightly-steaming cider and took a long drink from it, relishing in its warmth. A quiet sigh left her mouth as the heat radiated down her throat, into her stomach, and through her limbs. It was as she picked up a leg of chicken and ripped some meat from it that she became painfully aware that Dagur was watching her eat. She mentally cursed and wondered why in the world he was so intrigued by her.

Stoick cleared his throat, somewhat drawing Dagur’s attention once more; Thora gave him a thankful expression. “Now that we’re all here, how about a toast?” He stood, holding his mug aloft, everyone else following suit before called out, “To Oswald!”

Dagur stuck his tongue out. “Fine. To Oswald! To Oswald!” he called out in a mocking tone. “Blah-dee-da, blah-dee-da, blah!” He grumbled, stabbing his meat pie.

Thora eyed him warily as she wiped her mouth off on the bottom of her apron dress. “Er…So, did I miss anythin’ important while I was off? Has the treaty been signed yet?”

“Ah! No, it didn’t. An’ that’s a wonderful idea, actually!” Gobber piped. “What do ya say, Dagur? We sign the treaty an’ then you an’ the Berserkers can be on your way!”

Dagur clapped his hands together. “Great idea. Let’s sign the treaty! Bring us the dragon’s blood!”

“Dragon’s blood?” Thora questioned, her brow raised.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dagur,” Stoick replied, forcing a chuckle. “Your father an’ I haven’t signed a treaty in dragon’s blood in _years_!”

“Oh?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “And why would that be a problem for _us_ , Stoick? Unless, of course, you _don’t_ kill dragons anymore.”

Stoick raised his brow. “Of _course_ we still kill dragons.”

“The problem is,” Gobber interrupted, “we’ve killed so many dragons, there’re none left! Why, there’s not a dragon within two-hundred miles—”

As if on cue, Barf and Belch burst into the hall, their wings outstretched and shaking slightly, making the dragon appear larger than what it really was. Everyone jumped to their feet, overturning tables and stools in the process. The Berserkers drew their weapons, but they were too shocked to do anything, leaving the Hideous Zippleback to race around the Great Hall. Knowing they were searching for her and her tail, Thora ducked behind the nearest person and tried to cover her ears against the shouts and yells.

Not finding their prey, Barf and Belch scrambled out of the place before flying away. How did that tail they were hunting disappear into thin air like that!?

“This is perfect!” Dagur gleefully cackled. He turned to Stoick, grabbing his arms. “Can’t you see? It’s a _sign_! Two heads, one for each chieftain!” Facing his men once more, he drew his sword and held it high in the air. “Tonight, we hunt dragon!”

Stoick did his best to keep his composure. Leaning over, he helped Thora to her feet. She was still trying her best to keep her ears covered, since the Berserkers were now chanting ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’. Gently moving her hand aside, he placed his own hands over her ears –she sighed in relief.

“Dagur,” he spoke, his voice grave.

Spinning around, Dagur looked up at him with a small frown and a raised brow. “What?”

“Your chanting is hurtin’ my niece’s ears,” he told him, nodding at his niece. “Could ya take it outside?”

Dagur looked back and forth between Stoick and Thora a couple of times. Thora’s eyes were clenched shut and she was doing her best to regulate her breathing –both things he recognized from whenever his mother got a sudden headache. Shrugging, he turned back around.

“Men!” he called out. “Let us prepare for the hunt!” When most of his men had left the hall and Stoick had uncovered Thora’s ears, he smirked and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about finding your cloak, beautiful. By tomorrow night, I’ll have you draped in dragon skin.” Giving her a ‘handsome’ wink, he pulled away and followed after the other Berserkers.

Thora shuddered and stuck her tongue out in disgust.

Gobber, however, grumbled under his breath as he limped over. “Who does tha’ overgrown brat think he is? Sayin’ he’ll drape MY DAUGHTER in _dragon skin_? Ha! I’d like t’ see him try. He’d probably wet himself the moment he got closer than three feet t’ a full-sized dragon…”

Stoick shook his head. “Not now, Gobber. We have somethin’ more important t’ worry about: The life of that Zippleback.” He looked down at Thora, who nodded in understanding.

“I’ll go find Hiccup an’ the others an’ warn them,” she sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a while of searching, but Thora eventually found Hiccup and Astrid warming themselves by one of the braziers scattered about the village. She stopped some yards away, hesitation suddenly filling her mind when she saw the looks on their faces. Both wore small, shy smiles and she could tell their cheeks weren’t red just from the wintery air. From where she stood, she was able to hear snippets of their conversation and she bit her tongue; Hiccup was doing his best to smoothly flirt with Astrid, and Astrid seemed to be reciprocating.

‘Of course I have to give them bad news when Hiccup’s finally gaining some courage with girls…’ she thought, hiding herself behind one of the houses.

Sighing, she ran her hand over her braids and leaned against the wall of the house. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the sky. By that point, the clouds had returned to block out the blue sky. It made things feel a _little_ normal again, but she knew they were anything but.

‘What’s more important, though? Hiccup’s love life or Ruff and Tuff’s dragon?’ she continued to think. ‘Hiccup will have more chances, I’m sure, but Barf and Belch only have one life and I certainly don’t want it to be ended by a prick like Dagur…’

Taking a deep breath, she bit her tongue and stepped away from the wall. She was about to round the corner when a voice suddenly stopped her.

“Still wandering around without a cloak?”

Spinning around, her eyes widened as she saw Dagur approaching her.

“You’re going to end up freezing,” he told her, his brow rising. “After all, it’s going to take me some time to track down that dragon to get your _new_ cloak.”

“Oh, er…Well, I was headin’ for the brazier ‘round the corner here,” she replied, swallowing hard. “That should warm me up enough t’ get me home.”

He walked over to her, surprising her with his strength as he easily turned her around. “Is that so? Well, I think I’ll join you, then. After all, I could use a little warm-me-up before I go out hunting,” he spoke, hooking his arm around her waist.

‘Gods help me…’ she thought, suppressing a shudder. She then silently cursed; being properly dressed, Dagur was warm. As such, she found that she had unconsciously stepped _closer_ to him.

The two of them rounded the corner, catching Hiccup and Astrid’s attention. They looked over, fear coming to their faces.

“Er…hi, Dagur…hi, Thora,” Hiccup awkwardly spoke.

“Oh, it seems this brazier is already taken,” Dagur frowned. He let out a small, dramatic sigh. “Well, I’m sure we can find a different one-”

“No! This is perfect!” Thora told him, making her voice sound as chipper as possible. She used her tail to lightly push the horn of Dagur’s helmet away from her face. “This means I can tell them ‘bout the _good news_!” She glanced at the other teens from the corner of her eye.

Astrid lifted her brow, putting a hand on her hip. “The ‘good news’?” she repeated. “What good news?”

“Yes, what good news?” Dagur also questioned, his brows furrowed.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Dagur,” she retorted, smiling ‘fondly’ at him. “Ya know –the news ‘bout how you an’ Uncle Stoick are goin’ t’ be _huntin’_ that Zippleback that _burst into the Great Hall!_ ” She stole another glance at Hiccup and Astrid, finding them both wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Aye, amazin’, isn’t it?” she continued, stepping away from Dagur so that she could be closer to the fire. She was **severely** regretting giving Ruffnut her cloak by that point. “I was goin’ t’ tell ya that ya should _go let the others know_ so we can hold some sort o’ victory feast when they bring back the body.”

Dagur’s face lit up. “That is a brilliant idea! Not only will we get to sign the treaty in dragon’s blood, but _that_ feast can make up for the one ruined by the dragon!”

Hiccup forced a smile and a laugh. “Y-yeah, that’s a great idea, Thora! Don’t you think so, Astrid?” He lightly nudged her with his elbow.

“Uh, yeah!” she replied, doing her best to keep her voice sounding natural. “Hiccup and I will let the others know about it right away! After all, a good feast doesn’t cook itself, you know.”

As the two of them ran off, Thora let out a sigh of relief and held her hand out towards the fire. She enjoyed its warmth, though she badly wished she had a second mug of cider to help warm her body.

‘It’ll take a week or more for me to warm up again,’ she thought, ever so slightly leaning over the flames.

“Good thinking there, Thora,” Dagur complimented.

She blinked, having almost forgotten he was there. “P-pardon?”

He gave her a knowing look before once more pulling her against him and grinning ‘suavely’. This time, she was unable to hold back the shudder, though Dagur merely though it was due to his body warmth. “Telling them the good news in order to shoo them away,” he replied, his voice loud enough for only her to hear. “Leaving us all _alone_.” He wiggled his brows.

Thora leaned back; the spikes on his helmet were getting dangerously close to her face. “Well, like Astrid said, feasts don’t cook themselves,” she chuckled, though the nervousness in her voice was all too evident.

“Right,” he chuckled, winking. “Of _course_ they don’t.”

Using her tail once again, she gently pushed the Berserker chieftain away from her. “Look, Dagur, you’re a nice enough lad an’ all, but…I got t’ tell ya the truth,” she suddenly spoke, doing her best to make her tone sound disappointed.

He cocked a brow, frowning slightly. “Oh?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “I would have told ya earlier, but…well, things got in the way.” She faked a heavy sigh and glanced away, letting her tail droop to the ground. “I’m sorry, Dagur, but we’re just not meant t’ be -I’ve already got a boyfriend.”

Dagur stared at her; Thora couldn’t tell which emotion was more prominent on his face: Anger or disappointment. Regardless, it seemed he was succeeding in keeping himself calm and collected –odd, since he hadn’t managed that at earlier times.

“Is that so?” he questioned after a moment of processing her words.

She nodded, warily watching him for any signs of violence. “Aye.”

“Well, then he’s certainly a lucky man.” He put his hand on his hip, glancing around the village. “And, ah…which of the _fine_ Hooligans is your boyfriend? Will he be joining Stoick on the hunt?”

“I, er, doubt it,” she replied, her brain scrambling to come up with a fake name only to be mortified when she blurted out a real name. “Tuffnut’s er, currently out fishin’ with his uncle.”

Dagur looked at her questioningly. “…Tuffnut? His name is _Tuffnut_?” he asked, not impressed in the least. “What kind of name is _that_? Was he named by a drunkard?”

“He’s tough an’ he’s a nutcase, so the name suits him,” she replied, her tone becoming cooler as he insulted her ‘boy’friend. She crossed her arm over her chest, showing her displeasure for his choice of words.

On the contrary, Dagur seemed intrigued by _her_ choice of words. “Well then, from the sounds of it, it seems I may still have a chance at wooing you, my lovely Thora,” he told her. “I guess only time will tell.” Before she could respond, he turned and walked off.

She frowned in confusion before groaning when the realization hit. “Oh gods, now he thinks I have a thing for crazy guys…”

 

* * *

 

 

A thick fog covered Berk the next morning, making it hard for a person to see more than a few feet in front of them. Stoick prayed that this would help hide the Hideous Zippleback from Dagur and his men, though in his heart, he knew it wouldn’t stop the Berserkers. If anything, it would only work to make them all the more eager to go hunting.

Wrapped up in his thickest, warmest cloak, he left his house. Hiccup had already run off to go search for the Thorston twins, hoping they would be able to get their dragon under control. With a heavy sigh, he started to trek through the snow towards Gobber’s house, a sword strapped to his side; he had no intention of using it on the dragon, however. If things got out of control, he would use it to rid Midgard of Dagur and his horribleness, even if it meant risking war…

Gobber was already outside, also bundled up in heavy furs. He wore no smile, his usual happy expression having been replaced by a grim look. Attached to his stump was his hook, letting Stoick know he also had no intention of truly fighting the dragon –otherwise, he would have worn his hammer.

“Did Hiccup already run off?” questioned the blacksmith.

Stoick nodded. “Aye. He an’ the other riders ran off before the sun fully rose.”

Nodding, Gobber let out a sigh and glanced around. “Well, with all this fog, huntin’ that dragon should prove t’ be at least a _bit_ difficult,” he commented. “Good thing Dagur doesn’t know o’ Thora’s good hearin’, otherwise he’d do his best t’ bring her along.”

“She’s staying in the village, then?”

Again, Gobber nodded. “Aye. Gothi actually summoned her before dawn this mornin’. Apparently the Svaldifari lass went into labor around midnight an’ Gothi needs Thora’s help deliverin’ the baby.”

“Ah. Well, at least she gets to stay warm today.” He started walking towards the edge of the village, heading for the agreed-upon meeting spot. “I feel bad for sendin’ her out so much in the cold yesterday when she didn’t have her cloak…”

“Ya had no choice,” Gobber reminded him. “An’ don’t worry too much. She did so much runnin’, I’m sure she was able t’ stay warm. I know it wore her out nicely –she was fast asleep by the time I got home last night. She didn’t even wake up for dinner.”

“Hiccup did much the same an’ I can’t blame either of them.” He sighed and scratched his beard before speaking quieter in case the Berserkers were near. “I’m glad the two o’ them won’t be around today, to be honest. Hiccup because o’ how vicious Dagur is an’ Thora because…well, I’m sure you know.”

“Oh, you bet your skivvies I do!” Gobber grumbled, smacking his stump into the palm of his good hand. “That lil’ creep thinks he can try an’ get all flirty with my daughter just because he’s a chieftain…well, he has another thing—” He was suddenly silenced as Stoick set a hand over his mouth.

There were silhouettes approaching through the fog.

As they drew nearer, the two Hooligan men found that they were, indeed, Dagur and his men. They looked a bit tired; Stoick knew they had gone out in the last hours of daylight and attempted to find the dragon, but it had (thankfully) been to no avail. Despite their failure, Dagur looked confident as he held a crossbow over his shoulder.

“Good morning, men,” he spoke, a cocky grin on his lips. He then cocked a brow and frowned somewhat when he saw just the two Hairy Hooligans. “…You’re bringing no one else?” he questioned. “No Thora?”

“She’s assistin’ Gothi with a birth,” Stoick replied, “so yes, it will be just the two of us.”

He shrugged. “Oh well. I _had_ been hoping to bring down the dragon and present one of its heads to her as a gift, but there will be other dragons, I suppose. Shall we head out then?”

“Yes, lets,” Gobber replied, his tone betraying his displeasure for Dagur. The teen didn’t seem to notice, however –perhaps he was too used to it.

“My men found some tracks last night in the forest,” Dagur told them, leading the way. “They were only a few hours old and most definitely belonged to the Zippleback. They lead into some caves –probably where it sought shelter for the night. We’ll start there.”

Stoick and Gobber looked at each other. Though neither said a word, they understood perfectly well what the other was thinking –they were beyond sick of Dagur and his attitude.

 

When they reached the cave, they found fresh tracks leading into the forest. The hunters followed these for nearly an hour, the fog dissipating in that time. With the air now clear, it was easier for them to walk through the forest, as they no longer had to worry about tripping over unseen roots or getting caught in the undergrowth.

It was nearly noon by the time they stumbled upon a fresh set of Zippleback tracks. The Berserkers had begun to lose hope in their efforts, as they were quickly starting to grow cold and hungry, but Stoick and Gobber were beginning to feel the beginnings of relief when one of the Berserkers had to relieve himself. Minutes later, he had come running out from behind a nearby tree, tying up his trousers and declaring how he had found fresh footprints.

“Those are definitely fresh tracks,” Gobber confirmed, sighing. “No more than ten minutes old, I’d say. You can see the snow just startin’ t’ re-freeze in the bottom there.”

Dagur was nearly vibrating with excitement. “About how long do you think it’d take us to catch the beast?” he demanded, his eyes wide.

Shrugging, the blacksmith pulled his cloak closer around his form. “If we hurry an’ _don’t_ worry ‘bout makin’ noise, then I’d say about ten minutes. If we approach this the _careful_ way-”

Interrupting him, Dagur turned towards his men. “Did you hear that?” he told them, grinning. When they failed to move, however, he frowned. “What’re you waiting for? Get going!” he snapped, pointing at the horizon. As they started running, he called after them. “Remember: _YOU_ don’t get to kill it!”

Stoick cocked his brow as they started following after his men, but at a slower pace. “What, exactly, is it you’re havin’ your men do, Dagur?” he questioned, being careful to not step in the place where the Berserker had relieved himself.

“A simple hunting technique,” he replied, shrugging. “I have my men go around the dragon before rushing at it, startling it and driving it in our direction. Then, as it flees for its pathetic life, we kill it!” He darkly laughed, drawing his sword.

Gobber glanced at Stoick. “I hate t’ say it, but that’s a rather sound plan…Some o’ our hunters use that method t’ hunt boar, though they’re nothin’ compared t’ dragons…”

Dagur glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Boars and dragons can be equally dangerous,” he retorted, “especially large boars. Have you _seen_ their tusks? The wounds they leave are _not_ pleasant to look at. Sure, they don’t breathe fire, but they have _other_ ways of killing you.”

Stoick rubbed his forehead, silently praying to the gods for a boar to come running out of the underbrush and trampling Dagur to death. At least then, he couldn’t be blamed for his death and it wouldn’t cause an inter-tribal dispute…

Instead, however, Barf and Belch came rushing towards them, looks of terror in their eyes. They suddenly fell to the ground as three sets of bolas wrapped around their legs and necks, immobilizing them. Stoick could see the fear and panic grow in their eyes as Dagur stalked forward, drawing his sword…and then he heard what sounded like a voice being muffled somewhere in the distance. Squinting, he quickly glanced around and saw something in the nearby trees.

Darting forward, he drew his own sword, blocking Dagur’s blow as he meant to cut off Barf’s head. Slowly, Dagur turned his head towards the other chieftain, anger written all over his face.

“How…dare…you,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“How dare _you_!” Stoick retorted, brows furrowed. “We’re supposed t’ slay this dragon _together_ an’ that’s what we’ll do –in the _arena_ , where dragon killing is done.” He was glad the teen didn’t notice how he raised his voice, letting his words echo throughout the area.

Straightening his posture, Dagur slowly sheathed his sword. “I guess that makes sense,” he replied, his tone cool. Turning, he looked at his men as they returned from flushing out the dragon. “To the arena!” he ordered.

Stoick let out a sigh and glanced up, just barely able to see the multiple pairs of eyes, both human and dragon, staring out from a nearby tree. Giving the eyes a small nod, he turned and started to follow behind Dagur, Gobber on his heels.

“What’re you doin’?” Gobber whispered. “Takin’ the poor thing to the arena t’ be killed!”

“I’m givin’ Hiccup and the others enough time t’ come up with a plan,” he quietly replied.

The blacksmith nodded in understanding, a small grin coming to his lips. “Ahh…the ol’ delayin’ the inevitable plan. Gotcha. One o’ the most well-used plans in Viking history, that one.”

Stoick cocked a brow. “Gobber…we’ve never done this before.”

“Maybe _you_ haven’t, but you’re not _all_ o’ Midgard’s Vikings, now are you?” He wore a somewhat amused expression as he glanced over at the chief. “Why, this method o’ planning was one o’ Grandpappy Bork’s favorites! How else do ya think he collected so much information on all the different sorts o’ dragons out there?”

“I always thought it was because he was unlucky an’ the dragons just loved to torment him,” he told Gobber plainly.

Gobber somewhat frowned. “Well, that’s _one_ way o’ lookin’ at it…” he grumbled.

Dagur glanced back at them, his brow raised. “What _are_ the two of you going on about back there?” he questioned.

“How to best kill a Zippleback for its blood,” Gobber blurted out before Stoick could say anything.

He turned, staring at the two of them for a moment, his brow still raised. “With a sword to the jugular, would be my guess,” he spoke after a few minutes of tense silence. “Though, you two are the dragon killing _experts_ , so…What _would_ be the best method, hmm?”

“You would string them up by the tail,” Stoick sighed, “and _then_ cut into the jugular.”

“Slow and painful. I _like_ it!” Dagur smirked. “And it preserves the skin for making things like bags and cloaks.” He started walking once more.

Stoick and Gobber looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

 

As they neared the village, Stoick made sure to have the hunting party go _around_ the settlement. He claimed the dragon would draw too much attention for a simple blood gathering, but in truth, he didn’t want those Hairy Hooligans who still opposed peace with the dragons to cause a ruckus. Dagur didn’t oppose this –in fact, he thought it was a good idea, saying that everyone can gather around during the feast to hear their tale of hunting down the beast.

They were passing in front of the Great Hall when a voice stopped them.

“U-uh…er…what’s goin’ on?!”

Gobber spun around, seeing Thora walking down the path from Gothi’s hut. She wore only her dress and boots; her apron dress was crumpled up and shoved under her arm. “Lovey! I thought you were helpin’ Gothi?”

“I was,” she replied, eyes fixed on the Hideous Zippleback, “but that was earlier. W-why are ya lot draggin’ a dragon behind ya?”

“For ceremony, of course,” Dagur replied. “Your uncle requested we slay the beast together, in the arena.” A ‘handsome’ grin then spread across his face as he motioned for her to come over and join them. “Why don’t you join us? As a Völva in training, I’m certain this is something you wouldn’t want to miss.”

“Er…actually…” she started to say, but Stoick spoke up.

“He’s right, Thora,” he told her. “As the future Völva, it’ll be your job t’ preside over such matters.” He hated to do this to her, but all the talking was bringing further delay to the potential slaying of Barf and Belch. “It’ll be good for you an’ it’s not like you’ve not seen a dragon be killed before.”

Biting her tongue, Thora glanced away. “Er…Alright,” she murmured. “I was hopin’ t’ get a bath, though…Not like I had a baby pop out onto my lap this mornin’ or anythin’ gross like that…”

“Ah! The miracle of life and the miracle of death all in one day,” Dagur chuckled. “Aren’t you a lucky woman? Don’t worry; I’m sure there will be _plenty_ of time for you to take a bath before the feast.” As he started walking towards the arena, he waved his hand nonchalantly. “I’ve always heard dragon’s blood is good for the skin; maybe we can save some for your bath? Not that you need it, of course.”

Thora looked over at her uncle and father. “How have ya managed t’ _not_ strangle him yet?” she whispered, following behind them.

“It’s taking all of our willpower,” Gobber told her. He then raised half his brow and glanced back at her. “Did the baby really land on ya?”

She nodded, a look of disgust on her face. “It was gross. Well, the stuff _on_ the baby an’ what was birthed after the baby were gross.” She shook her head, shuddering at the memory. “Sorry, da’, but after that, you’re _never_ gettin’ grandchildren.”

Gobber patted her uninjured shoulder, quietly chuckling.

“Also, why did ya have t’ bring me into this, Uncle Stoick?” she questioned, frowning.

“Because talking t’ you made Dagur have t’ wait even longer,” he replied softly, “which gives Hiccup an’ the others more time t’ get here.”

She nodded in understanding, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Makes sense,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry about dragging you into this,” Stoick told her. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“Uncle, ya gave me a fancy, new dress. If anythin’, this is me payin’ _you_ back,” she chuckled before yawning again.

He shook his head, quietly chuckling. He couldn’t argue with her logic, especially with how tired she was. Instead, he remained silent, the only sound he made being the disgruntled ‘hm’ as they passed through the gate leading into the arena –which _had_ been renamed Berk Dragon Training Academy, but the sign had been temporarily removed.

Barf and Belch were brought to the far end of the arena where the bolas were removed from their necks. Thora bit her tongue as she stood near the wall, watching as Gobber pulled a roll of parchment from underneath his cloak. He cleared his throat, giving a cursory glance around for any sign of the riders. Finding none, he sighed and unfurled the parchment.

“Accordin’ t’ the treaty,” he began, “the killin’ o’ the dragon must be-”

“ _Bored_!” interrupted Dagur. Rolling his eyes, he unsheathed his sword and started stalking towards the Zippleback. “I call the head on the right,” he declared, pointing at Belch with his weapon. Raising the sword, he was unaware of Stoick stalking towards him, his own blade raised.

But then Hiccup burst into the arena, running at top speed and his face panicked. “Help! Help! Dragon attack!” he cried.

Everyone turned to face him. “What?”

Astrid came running in shortly after Hiccup. “The dragons are attacking!” she cried, her acting a little less convincing than Hiccup’s. “Run for your lives! We gotta get out of here!”

Thora blinked, watching as Hookfang, Snotlout’s Monstrous Nightmare, started climbing down the chain dangling from the arena’s roof. He spat liquid fire at some of the Berserkers before hopping to the ground and using his teeth to free Barf and Belch. The two dragons began creating a healthy dose of chaos. Pressing herself against the wall –she didn’t want to risk getting injured further- she bit her tongue, grinning slightly as she watched the futile attempts of the Berserkers as they tried to fight the dragons.

There was an explosion from Barf and Belch; Dagur was sent flying through the air. He landed with a clatter near her, groaning in pain as he pushed himself upright. Glancing up, Dagur caught sight of the grin on Thora’s face as she watched the chaos and he smirked, rising to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes widened as Toothless came bounding into the arena, roaring and shooting off plasma blasts here and there.

“A Night Fury!” he gasped, eyes wide. “They _do_ exist!” He let out a curse as Toothless started racing towards him. Moving to raise his weapon, he realized that he was, for once, weaponless.

Out of nowhere, Hiccup jumped in the way, pointing a small knife at the dragon while keeping a shield in front of him. “Back, you…you _fiend_!” As he spoke, he raised the shield, bashing it into the bottom of Dagur’s jaw. “You’ll not harm my friend, Dagur!” he cried, using the shield to –painfully- push Dagur out of harm’s way. He fell back as Toothless shot the tiniest of plasma blasts at him, hitting the shield.

Hiccup fell back as Toothless leapt atop him, pinning him to the ground. “Please, Dagur! Save yourself!” he called, starting to wrestle with the dragon. “You owe it to your people!”

Dagur swallowed hard, looking around. His men were absolutely useless against the dragons; they were too panicked to notice where the weak spots of the dragons were. Knowing that the battle would have to be fought by the Hooligans, he knew they had to flee. “Berserkers! To the ships!” he called, hurrying towards the gate and beginning to help his men through.

Thora blinked. “But the treaty…” she mumbled, realizing it hadn’t been signed. Darting forward, she weaved her way past Hiccup and Toothless before snatching the treaty from Gobber’s pocket. Racing back to the gate, she was just in time to see Dagur’s retreating backside. Her brow rose ever-so-slightly at the view.

Shaking her head in disgust at herself, she called out, “But what about the treaty?” Holding the treaty up as Dagur spun around, she motioned to it with her tail.

“Consider it signed!” he called. “And let me know if you and Tuffnut ever breakup!” With that said, he turned and high-tailed it out of Berk.

A sigh of relief left her mouth and she allowed herself to slouch against the wall of the arena. “Thank gods that’s _finally_ over…” she murmured.

“Uh…did he just say what I think he said?”

She glanced up in time to watch Ruffnut and Tuffnut hop down from the Gatekeeper’s box, both of them crossing their arms as they stared her down. Ruffnut, she saw, was wearing her cloak –it was _much_ too big for her, but at least she looked warm. Tuffnut, however, was clad only in his normal clothes. She raised her brow, ready to scold him, but Ruffnut spoke first.

“If he _did_ just say that, I wasn’t aware the two of you were dating,” Ruffnut told her, cocking her hip. “Why would you keep something like that from me?”

Tuffnut shrugged. “Don’t worry, sis. She kept it from me, too. You’d think she’d tell me since I’m kind of an integral part of the whole relationship thing working.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora sighed. “I told Dagur we were datin’ so he’d leave me alone. Didn’t work too well, though…”

“Oh. So we’re _not_ dating?” Tuffnut questioned, brows furrowed.

“Dang. You two would make such a _cute_ couple,” Ruffnut snickered.

Thora sighed, rubbing her forehead. “This…isn’t really the best time for your dumb play,” she admitted, her voice betraying her weariness and her lack of patience. “I need a bath an’ three days o’ sleep…”

They raised their brows, concern coming to their faces.

“Dang,” murmured Tuffnut. “You sound exhausted…”

“Was having to put up with Dagur _that_ bad?” Ruffnut asked, a somewhat worried look on her face.

She gave them a long look. “You have absolutely _no_ idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took awhile...I kinda took last week off of writing because my mom has been in the hospital. She's doing better now, but she's still up there. 
> 
> Anyway, Dagur has finally entered the story! Yaay! He's fun to write :)


	10. Chapter 10

‘Make sure it does not boil –that will make the mixture thicken too much and become useless. A gentle simmer will do well enough.’

Thora nodded, stirring the medicinal syrup slowly. It smelled strongly of mint, basil, and clove. Its scent wasn’t the best combination of smells, but she was thankful it was better smelling than the medicine they had made earlier involving yak blood and powdered anise.

“How long should I let it simmer for?” she asked, glancing over at Gothi.

The old woman was sitting in her chair, bundled up in many layers of furs thanks to the cold she had recently acquired. Her hands, also covered up, grabbed her staff again and began to write, ‘You will know when you can run your finger down the back of the spoon and a clear path is left unfilled.’

“Alright…not sure I want t’ touch somethin’ that hot, though,” she murmured.

‘Dip your finger in water before doing so. It will keep away the pain.’

Thinking the mixture was nearing its done point, she dipped one of her fingers into her mug of water before pulling the spoon out. Doing as Gothi instructed, she watched as the syrup slowly oozed back to fill in the gap.

‘Not quite there,’ she thought, wiping her finger on her apron. She winced slightly; her arm had come out of the sling a few days ago, but moving it in certain directions still brought about a jolt of pain. ‘A minute or two more, then.’ She started stirring the mixture again, wanting to prevent it from burning.

Soon, the medicine had reached the proper consistency and she did her best to evenly pour it into four different bottles. Knowing it would have to cool completely before she put the cork on, she left the bottles to sit on the table as she went outside, filling the pot with snow to help cool it for cleaning.

When she came back inside, Gothi was blowing her nose into a well-soiled handkerchief. Raising her brow, Thora inwardly cringed. “Let’s get ya a clean handkerchief, aye?” she suggested.

Gothi nodded, handing the soaking wet square of cloth to Thora, who gingerly took it between her forefinger and thumb. She carried it over to a small cauldron filled with steaming water and dropped it in; Gothi’s other used handkerchiefs were also in the hot liquid. She swished her fingers in the water before going over to a trunk and pulling out a fresh handkerchief. Taking it to Gothi, she noticed the old woman had scribbled on the ground again.

‘By the way, you never told me how the treaty signing went,’ was what she read.

Sighing, Thora went to start cleaning the now-cooled pot of any bits of syrup or herbs left inside it. “It was…somethin’, that’s for sure. No doubt Uncle Stoick’s told ya by now that Oswald is no longer chief o’ the Berserkers?”

Nodding, Gothi adjusted herself, watching as Thora scrubbed the pot.

“Well, I spent those two days runnin’ all over Berk because I was either helpin’ t’ chase after a dragon or havin’ t’ put up with the flirtations o’ Dagur the Deranged.” She gave Gothi a long, exasperated look before sticking her tongue out in disgust. “An’, aye: he _does_ live up t’ the title.” She shrugged. “Wasn’t terrible t’ look at…but then he went an’ opened his mouth an’ everythin’ went downhill from there”

A hoarse laugh came from Gothi before she loudly blew her nose. ‘I know very much how you feel in that regard,’ she wrote, making Thora curiously raise her brow.

“Oh? How so?”

‘You may not believe me, but there is a reason Mildew managed to have three wives in his youth,’ she wrote, her own brow lifted in amusement. ‘He was a rather attractive man in his early days, but his personality was just as bad as it is today.’

Sticking out her tongue, Thora shook her head. “Impossible. There is _no_ way Mildew was ever young, let alone _attractive_ ,” she argued, making Gothi laugh once again. “He’s always been a hideous ol’ curmudgeon with far too much nose hair! I honestly don’t see why you’re laughin’ so much over there; I’m just tellin’ ya the truth!”

By that point, Gothi was laughing so hard, she nearly toppled out of her chair. Thora reached over, gently pushing her back into the furs before removing a couple of the layers so she wouldn’t overheat. Dabbing at her eyes with a clean part of the handkerchief, the older woman still shook with giggles, but had managed to mostly regain her composure.

‘Oh, Thora, child –you have no idea how badly I needed a laugh like that!’ she wrote, her letters shaky. ‘Thank you for that.’

She rubbed the back of her neck with her tail. “You’re welcome, I guess? But c’mon –there is _no way_ ya were tellin’ the truth ‘bout Mildew just now.’

‘Whether you wish to believe it or not, child, I was.’

Before Thora could reply, the door burst open and Gobber came rushing in. He closed the door behind him and brushed snow from his trousers and shoulders. Letting out a strange noise as he shivered, he hurried over to the fire to warm himself.

“Er…hi, da’,” Thora blinked, staring at her father in confusion. “What brings ya all the way up here?”

“This is what brings me,” he replied, reaching underneath his cloak. From it, he pulled out a scroll. “Hiccup an’ the others flew past Trader Johann this morning on one o’ their patrols an’ he gave ‘em this. It’s your mother’s reply, lovey.”

Both Gothi and Thora’s eyes widened, though the latter of the two unconsciously leaned away from the letter. Biting her tongue, she watched as Gothi urged her to take the scroll. She hesitantly reached out, afraid of the words she would soon read.

“Go on, lovey,” Gobber gently told her. “Take your time. Ya don’t have t’ read it out loud, either, if ya don’t want.”

She nodded slowly as she looked over the scroll. Not only was it bound shut by a long, thin strip of leather, but it also had a seal of what looked and smelled like sap. After removing the both, she took a deep breath and unfurled the parchment only to let out a gasp; a necklace had tumbled out of the parchment. How she hadn’t felt it when the scroll was bound, she didn’t know Looking it over, she found that it was simple –just a silver chain with a stone pendant.

Her brow rising, she started to read the letter.

 

> _~~Litla Systir~~ _ _Little Sister Thora—_
> 
> _First, please excuse my ~~tungumál~~ language. Human speak is not mine or my brothers’ gift, but we do our best. _
> 
> _Second, your letter is many years too late. With ~~sorg~~ sadness, I inform you that Mother has been taken to Valhalla or Folkvangr. She will be unable to give lessons to you, Little Sister Thora. _
> 
> _Third, I not know how much you know of us, your brothers. I remember Mother not giving much information with you when Trader Johann took you to the human island. We are three: Chief Ulfr is oldest and strongest brother. He is much like Mother in manners and mind, but more like Father Skúld in appearance. Healer Ormr is middle brother and, like title, is best healer. He is gentler than Mother, but not look like her at all. He look and act much like Father Njorðr. Then there is me, Sindri. I am youngest brother but strongest in magic. I look much like mother, but am more like Father Ing in mind._
> 
> _We wonder if you act like Mother or if are more like father? We remember him and Chieftain Stoick. They were strong -for humans. Very strong. Slew many cowardly Romans in that battle! Your father is good man and great warrior. You have good blood in your veins._
> 
> _You are many centuries younger to us, Little Sister Thora. We remember you, but only slightly. You were tiny. Tinier than even a human infant! Ormr was confident you would not see a year pass, but we see he was wrong. Good! We don’t remember your hair, but your skin was lighter than Mother’s. You had trouble nursing from Mother, so you had to be fed warmed goat milk with a spoon._
> 
> _Völva Gothi says you have magic like us, but she cannot train you. Troll magic not like human magic. Troll magic comes from strength and earth; human magic is given by gods. But you are half human, half troll. Your magic is ~~öðruvísi~~ different. Völva Gothi has taught you what she knows. Now you must come to our home to be taught what we know. Ulfr will teach you shapeshifting. Ormr will teach you healing. I will teach you magic. We know not how long you will take to train, but I guess a few years. Ormr says you may start as if you were a child learning; it depends on how much you now know._
> 
> _But winter is coming fast. Sailing is not safe during this time…days too short, nights too cold. Come to us in mid-spring, Little Sister Thora, when the last frost has gone. When you come, we tell you more about us and Mother. We tell you why Mother gave you to Father and why the ~~Valkyrjur~~ Valkyries claimed her._
> 
> _-Sindri_
> 
> _Oh, also: The necklace will help you find us._

“Well?” Gobber asked after many tense minutes had passed.

“…Greta’s dead,” Thora finally spoke, still trying to absorb the information she had just read. “I assume she died in battle; it says she’s gone t’ Valhalla or Folkvangr…”

A shadow of sorrow came to Gobber’s eyes. “O-oh…I guess that means ya won’t be gettin’ trained then…” he murmured, taking off his helmet and scratching the top of his head with his hook. “Can’t say I’m not too disappointed by that, t’ be honest…”

Gothi merely let out a heavy sigh.

Thora, however, shook her head. “No. M-my brothers said they would train me.”

“Brothers?” Gobber repeated, his eyes wide. “Ya have _brothers_?”

“Three o’ them,” she replied with a nod. “Evidently, they’re centuries older than me…”

Again, he scratched the top of his head. “Well, that’d explain why I didn’t see any whelps runnin’ around the camp,” he murmured. “So, they’re goin’ t’ be the ones t’ train ya? When do they want ya t’ head over?”

“After the last frost has passed, so about mid-spring. Sindri, the one who wrote the letter, said sailing in winter is too dangerous –which is true. I don’t think it’d be fun t’ run into an iceberg in the middle o’ the night an’ end up wreckin’ the ship…”

Gothi nodded in understanding before writing on the ground. ‘What else did they say?’ she questioned. ‘Did they say what you are to learn from them?’

“Shapeshiftin’, healin’, an’ magic,” she replied, looking over the letter again. “It may take a few years to teach it all to me. That’s…a lot longer than I was thinkin’, t’ be honest. I mean, you were able t’ teach me some magic within just a few weeks.”

‘You are a product of two worlds, child,’ Gothi wrote. ‘It will take them time to find out how to best tutor you. I would assume you will learn how to heal faster than shapeshifting and using magic, however, since you already have a firm grasp on what I have taught you. Yes, there is still much for you to learn, but you currently have enough knowledge to tend to everyday wounds and illnesses and that is more than what most people can do.’

“True,” she agreed, picking up the necklace and looking over it again, this time paying closer attention to its details. There wasn’t much she missed the first time she had looked it over, except now she noticed how the stone had been cut thin enough that, when she held it up to the firelight, she could see through it. “Huh…” she murmured.

Gobber cocked his head. “They sent ya a necklace?” he questioned, half his brow rising. “Well, that’s certainly nice o’ them!”

“Sindri said it’s supposed t’ help me find ‘em.” She turned the stone over in her hands, squinting as she tried to see if, perhaps, there was a map etched on it somewhere or something of the sort. “Not sure how, though…I mean, it’s a piece o’ jewelry…” Putting it on, she waited to see if anything magical would happen. When nothing did, she frowned slightly, but shrugged.

“Maybe if ya show it t’ Trader Johann, he’ll know where t’ take ya?” Gobber guessed. “Or maybe it’s t’ buy ya passage on Trader Johann’s ship…”

“I doubt that. Well, however it works, at least it makes for a pretty, normal necklace in the meantime, eh?” She chuckled and looked down at the stone. It seemed to change color whenever the light hit it, making it impossible to tell what its real shade was. “Oh, an’ da’? They apparently remember ya an’ Uncle Stoick. Sindri said the two o’ ya were good men an’ admired your strength.” Standing up, she went over to one of Gothi’s many kettles and filled it with water.

Gobber puffed out his chest in pride. “Well, o’ course! We’re Hairy Hooligans –we’re the strongest tribe o’ the Barbaric Archipelago!” He grinned proudly. “An’ your uncle is certainly one o’ the strongest men this tribe has seen in decades. Why, I don’t think even his own father was as strong as him!” He watched as Thora put the kettle over the fire before going over to Gothi’s herb shelf.

Gothi raised her brow and started scribbling on the ground. Leaning over, Gobber read her words only to turn a bit pink around the ears.

“Gothi, be nice,” he lightly scolded, using his foot to wipe away her words before Thora could read them. “Don’t write those things around Thora! She doesn’t need t’ pick up on language like that.”

Thora snorted, having a feeling she knew what sort of thing the old woman had written. “Don’t worry, da’ –I’m sure it’s nothin’ I haven’t heard or read before.”

That only made Gobber frown. “Oh really? An’ just where is it you’re hearin’ that sort o’ language, young lady?”

Innocently, she shrugged and looked away from him as she gathered some lavender, chamomile, and some pieces of a dried root called ginger; Gothi said it came from lands east of Rome and was rather expensive to get. “Oh, I don’t know…it’s not like I wasn’t raised by two, rough ‘n tumble men or anythin’…” She glanced over at Gothi when the old woman laughed hoarsely before heading back to the fire and tossing the small handful of herbs into the kettle.

An indignant look came to his face and he put his hand and hook on his hips. “I don’t recall me or Stoick usin’ that sort o’ language around you an’ Hiccup!” he retorted.

“Oh, but ya did –ya ay not have realized it, but ya did. Especially when ya an’ Uncle Stoick were in the forge or havin’ one o’ your heated games o’ Maces an’ Talons.”

He rolled his eyes, pouting. “Sassin’ your ol’ man…” he murmured. “What’s becomin’ o’ teenagers these days, eh? Thinkin’ they own the world an’ that they can talk back t’ their parents…”

Rolling her eyes as well, Thora grinned, though she resisted the urge to say any sort of retort. Instead, she remained silent and fetched both a wooden mug and a jar of honey. Knowing Gothi liked her tea on the sweeter side, she put a large dollop of the honey in the bottom of the mug. Behind her, she could hear Gothi’s staff scratching against the floor as she wrote something out.

“She writin’ t’ me or you, da’?” she asked, grabbing a second mug and adding just a small bit of honey to it.

“Me,” he replied, leaning over and reading the words.

“Would ya like some tea, da’?”

“No thanks, lovey. I got t’ head back t’ the forge soon. I mainly came up here t’ give ya the letter.”

She nodded in understanding, turning around with the mugs in her hand. “Alright. I may be late in comin’ home, by the way –Gothi needs me t’ fetch some more dragon teeth from Death’s Head Headland.

He cocked half his brow. “Dragon teeth? What do ya need dragon teeth for?” he questioned, looking down at the elder. Tilting his head, he read her reply aloud, “For jewelry an’ for Trader Johann,” he murmured. “Huh. Wouldn’t expect _him_ t’ want somethin’ like dragon teeth…”

“He probably trades ‘em off t’ other tribes or folk on the mainland,” Thora told him. Grabbing a cloth, she used it to shield her hands from the heat of the metal as she picked up the kettle full of now-boiling tea. She filled each mug nearly to the top with the water before setting the kettle on the stones of the hearth. “So, aye, don’t get too worried if I’m an hour or two late. I know the others are out, so I have t’ use my own feet t’ get there this time.”

“Gee, what do ya think we did _before_ Hiccup tamed the dragons?” he chuckled, reaching over and ruffling her hair. “I’ll make sure t’ save ya some dinner, lovey. An’ make sure ya stay warm, aye? I don’t want t’ find ya turned into an icicle.”

“Don’t worry, da’,” she chuckled, handing the honey-heavy mug to Gothi, “I’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

Thora was incredibly thankful Ruffnut had returned her cloak, because it was _cold_. The snow was knee-deep, but thanks to the snowshoes she wore, she was able to stay atop the white powder. Regardless, she was left wishing she had stopped by Silent Sven’s farm to borrow one of his yak-drive sledges.

‘Not that it would be much faster,’ she thought, blowing a strand of hair from her face. ‘Yaks can’t walk on snow…’ She winced as a snowflake was blown into her eye and she let out a curse as her eye began watering. ‘Oh don’t you even think about it, eyeball –I don’t need ice covering my cheeks!’ Scrunching her nose up, she did her best to wipe the tear away before it could fall, but the scratchy wool of her gloves did little to help.

Shaking her head, she adjusted the scarf she had tied around her mouth and nose and continued north. She had already covered over half the distance to Death’s Head Headland and, as she squinted through the wind, she was able to see the forest looming ahead of her. A sigh of relief left her mouth and part of her mind urged her to go faster so as to reach shelter sooner, but the rest of her brain stopped her.

‘I don’t want to use all my energy up reaching the forest,’ she told herself. ‘Not when I still have to go to the dragon graveyard and all the way back to Berk. Ugh. If I had known the snow was _this_ deep out here, I would have told Gothi to just wait for spring.’

At the thought of spring, her hand unconsciously rose up and felt for the necklace hidden beneath her many layers of clothes.

‘But spring is when I leave Berk…and only the gods know how long I’ll be gone.’ She frowned under the scarf. ‘Part of me wants to stay here on Berk; this is my _home_. But…I have brothers! Full-blooded troll brothers! And they said they’d be willing to teach me the magic they know…I should be ecstatic to meet them, especially since Sindri said they would tell me why my mother sent me away.

‘But…is that something I really _want_ to know? What if it was because she hated the mere sight of me? Or what if she hated the reminder of a night spent with a human?’ She shook her head. ‘No, that can’t be it. Dad said _she_ was the one who seduced _him,_ not the other way around. And Sindri had said that dad was a great warrior, and warriors are pretty much revered everywhere, aren’t they?’

A heavy sigh left her mouth and she shivered as a particularly strong blast of wind managed to blow her cloak open. Cursing, she quickly tugged it shut, not caring about the pain she felt in her arm. She grumbled to herself, still cursing the wind as it had taken all the warmth away from under the furry cape.

Thora suddenly froze, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, as she heard a strange rattling noise. Her brows furrowing, she cocked her head, trying to better hear the noise over the wind. It almost sounded like a bundle of dried, hollow sticks being bounced around and it was getting closer by the second…

Turning around, she found herself staring face-to-face with the enormous skull of a dragon.

Somehow, it still contained a pair of bright, green eyes and they were staring right at her.

Too shocked to move or cry out, Thora continued to stare at the dragon before her, her jaw having fallen slack. Rearing back, the dragon shook itself and she now knew the sound she had heard was actually that of rattling bones –almost the entire dragon was covered in bones. Thora was able to spot a few small, bare patches of brownish-green skin, however. She also took notice of how the dragon absolutely _dwarfed_ her. The only dragon she had seen that was bigger was back on the Dragon’s Nest.

“You’re a Boneknapper,” she mumbled, her eyes still wide as she watched it lean back down. It curiously sniffed her, making soft noises of concern as it did so. “Oh gods, please don’t find my tail…I would really like t’ keep that a dragon-free zone…”

It was then that she realized that this was a wild, _untamed_ dragon –and one that wasn’t well documented in the Book of Dragons. Biting her tongue, she watched as it continued to inspect her; despite the fishy smell of its breath, she welcomed the sniffing thanks to the warm air it exhaled. The wind was growing stronger and was beginning to bring snow with it, making it harder for her to keep her cloak closed.

‘Maybe…Maybe I could try taming it?’ she thought, taking notice of the wind. ‘A blizzard is coming and I need a fast way home.” She shivered, rubbing her arms under her cloak. ‘Anyway, how hard can it be? Even _Snotlout_ managed to tame a dragon and he has one of the crankiest breeds!’

Still biting her tongue, she slowly reached out her hand. The Boneknapper tilted its head, watching curiously as her palm drew closer and closer to the end of its snout. Before she could touch it, though, it hopped back a few yards and eyed her warily.

“I’m not goin’ t’ hurt you,” she gently told it, hoping it could hear her over the wind. Crouching somewhat low to the ground, she kept her hand extended and slowly began to crawl forward. “I know my people have hurt yours in the past, but we’re makin’ up for it…Plus, I know o’ a place where ya can get _plenty_ o’ new bones for your armor…”

The dragon cocked its head this way and that as it listened to her talk. An intrigued expression filled its eyes as Thora mentioned the place of bones and it lowered its head closer to the ground, flapping its wings slightly. There was a bit of suspicion in its green eyes as it stared at this strange, pointy-eared, long-toothed human, but there was no fear.

“With your help, we can get there right fast,” Thora continued, clenching her eyes shut as the wind threatened to blow more snow into them. “An’ then, if ya allow it, we can go t’ my home where there are _loads_ o’ fish for all the dragons t’ eat an’ nice, warm spots for ya t’ roost until this storm-” She cracked open an eye when she felt the warm, hard surface of the Boneknapper’s outer skull press against her palm.

Smiling, she scratched the top of its snout, wondering if it could feel the sensation through the thick bone. It certainly felt something, because it turned its head, begging to get scritches under its jaw as well.

“There’s a good dragon,” she cooed, using both hands to scratch at the bone. “Now, will ya let me ride on your back?” She glanced up at its neck and back, wondering if it would even be possible –true to its name, it had all sorts of bones fused to its body and most of them stuck up in ways that made it seem impossible for the dragon to be ridden.

Somehow understanding her, the dragon spread its wings and lowered itself to the ground, letting her know that it accepted her. Before attempting to climb on, however, Thora pulled off her snowshoes and tucked them under her arm. Then, she began to the task of getting on the Boneknapper and finding a suitable seat. After some minutes of searching, she found a spot just between its wings that seemed like it would accommodate her and she clambered aboard, having some difficulties thanks to her injury and the snowshoes she carried.

Feeling Thora give a small pull on one of the external vertebrae, the Boneknapper took off into the air. It glanced back at her when she gave a yelp of surprise, but it was unable to read her expression through her scarf and the mess of hair blowing in her face. For now, it had to trust that she was alright –which she seemed to be, as she was able to guide it around to fly north.

‘I can’t believe I just tamed a Boneknapper,’ Thora thought, her insides filled with a renewed sense of excitement and nervousness. ‘Wait until Hiccup sees it! Wait until _dad_ sees it! He’ll finally be able to prove to Uncle Stoick that his adventures against a Boneknapper were real!’ She let out a laugh, but the sound was lost to the wind.

‘But…wait…’ Her brows suddenly furrowed and she looked down at the dragon. ‘Why would a Boneknapper be here on Berk? Was it looking for the dragon graveyard for more bones? Or did it get lost in this storm?’ A panicked look came to her face and she quietly gasped. ‘Or what if it’s part of a herd and it got separated from its family _because_ of the storm?!’

Biting her tongue, she gave the dragon a good scratch on the neck. “If ya _do_ have a family out there, I want ya t’ return nice an’ safe t’ it, alright? We’ll stop an’ get ya some new bones, then it’s straight t’ my home, where you’ll get a nice, big dinner, and a warm place t’ sleep.

“Whatever the reason for ya bein’ here, I’ll make sure ya stay safe for now,” she quietly promised.

 

* * *

 

 

When a few days had passed and the storm had left Berk with a new foot of fresh snow, Thora fully expected to find the Boneknapper’s –who was a female, according Gobber - roost empty and any trace of her gone from Berk. Instead, as she left her home that sunny morning, she was greeted by the dragon hopping from foot to foot with her wings slightly outspread, as if she were dancing in glee to see Thora. This had becoming a familiar, though still amusing, sight for the teen, as she had been received in the same fashion whenever she brought in the baskets of fish for her meals.

“Well, someone woke up in a good mood,” she chuckled, reaching up and rubbing the dragon’s snout. “I’m surprised t’ see ya still here, girl –can’t say I’m too torn up ‘bout that, though.” She quietly laughed as she was nuzzled affectionately.

Gobber limped out of the house, pinning his cloak around his shoulders. “Yep, lovey, I think you got yourself a keeper there,” he told her, smiling as he shut the door behind him. “She seems t’ like ya well enough, after all! Have ya come up with a name yet?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet. I’m wantin’ t’ make sure she actually stays before I come up with anythin’.”

He shrugged, using his hook to scratch under the dragon’s jaw. “If ya ask me, I’d say she’s here for good, otherwise she would have left by now.” With his hand, he flipped one of Thora’s braids over her shoulder instead of ruffling her hair –he knew how long she had spent fighting her hair to get it into the two, somewhat uneven, braids. “So I’d start thinkin’ o’ a name for her if I were you. But, since I’m _me,_ how ‘bout I start on makin’ ya a saddle for her, eh? Must be painful, ridin’ on bone like that.” He started to limp off, having to be careful as he walked thanks to hidden patches of ice.

She nodded. “Thanks, da’,” she told him, moving to hop on the dragon. As she got situated, her brow rose –she could hear the sound of many wings approaching from above.

“Dude! Snotlout, you were _right!_ She does have a skeleton for a dragon!”

“Why would you want a _dead_ dragon? That kind of defeats the purpose of having a dragon if they’re dead.”

“You idiots, it’s a _living_ dragon covered in _bones_!”

“Exactly! That’s because it’s a Boneknapper. It uses the bones from dead animals and dragons as its armor, since Boneknapper don’t naturally have their own, hardened scales to use. It’s also a good intimidation factor, since most people do think them to be dead at first.”

She watched as Hiccup and the other dragon riders landed in front of her house. Though she didn’t admit it, she felt a bit of pride at having a dragon so much larger than theirs. Regardless of her size, though, the dragon stepped back at the sudden arrival of five other dragons.

“So, you finally tamed yourself a dragon, huh?” Hiccup chuckled, looking up from the back of Toothless. “And a pretty unique one at that.”

Thora shrugged. “Eh, she found me, really. I was runnin’ an errand for Gothi an’ she literally came out o’ nowhere. Don’t know how or why she found her way t’ Berk, but she did.” She patted the Boneknapper’s neck as she looked back at her, worry and fear in her eyes. “It’s alright girl, they’re friends –well, the Night Fury an’ his rider are family.”

“So she’s a female Boneknapper, huh?” Astrid grinned. “Hear that, Fishlegs? Another girl on our team!”

“You may have a new friend, Meatlug!” Fishlegs cooed to his dragon, patting her atop the head. He glanced up at Thora. “How can you tell she’s a female, though? The Book of Dragons doesn’t say how to tell between male and female.”

“Da’ told me it was because she has big bones for armor. Apparently, the females like t’ look larger or are larger than the males? Don’t _quite_ remember the reasonin’ for that, but aye, the females get the biggest bones.”

Snotlout snorted. “Right…your dragon’s just fat under all those bones.” He yelped in surprise and mild pain as Hookfang partially lit himself on fire, sending his rider leaping off of him into the snow. The Monstrous Nightmare gave an apologetic look to the Boneknapper.

“You’re lucky I’m up here an’ not down there,” Thora told him, her tone dry and her brow raised. “What Hookfang just did would feel like a _pinch_ compared t’ how hard I would have socked ya.”

Mocking her, Snotlout repeated what she said in an insultingly childish way. “Yeah right. You punch like Hiccup.” Standing up, he wiped the snow from his backside before mounting his dragon once more.

She narrowed her eyes. “Want t’ put that t’ the test?” she growled, baring her teeth.

Tuffnut grinned gleefully. “Aw yeah! Surprise fight!” he cheered, punching his palm. “My money’s on Thora!”

“All bets are doubled if she bites his ear off,” Ruffnut added, leaning her elbows on the sides of Barf’s horns.

“There _isn’t_ going to be a fight,” Astrid sighed, smacking her forehead, “let alone ear biting. She’s not Mikkel Týrson…”

“Yeah. We came here to _learn_ about Berk’s newest dragon,” Hiccup reminded them. “For example! Thora, what have you named your Boneknapper?”

Her expression softening, she shrugged as she turned her attention to her cousin. “She doesn’t have one yet. I’m thinkin’ it’s goin’ t’ have ‘Dancing’ in it, though, because she does an adorable dance whenever it’s mealtime.”

“Does she?” Fishlegs questioned, an excited look on her face. “Do you think it’s a common trait among Boneknappers, or do you think it’s unique to just her?”

“I, er, wouldn’t know, t’ be honest. She’s the first Boneknapper I’ve met, though from da’s stories, the one he met didn’t dance…”

The twins, have slunk forward and draped themselves over their dragon’s heads once they realized there wasn’t going to be a fight, let out raspberries in unison. “So she dances,” Ruffnut began.

“But can she sing?” Tuffnut continued. “We’ve met a singing Terrible Terror and let me tell you, sir: That thing was far more impressive than a dancing dragon.”

Ruffnut grinned at the memory. “Yeah. That little guy really had an amazing set of lungs and quite the vocal range.”

“We should have tried training him!” Tuffnut suddenly told her,  look of regret on his face. “I just came up with the perfect name for him and everything! Daviþ Börgi.”

Ruffnut cursed, lightly hitting her leg in frustration. “We should have!”

“Um…” Hiccup murmured, his brow raised at the twins’ conversational tangent. He looked back at his cousin. “So, Thora, would you be willing to come to the academy for a little while so we can do some tests with your dragon? There isn’t a lot of information in the Book of Dragons about Boneknappers, so it’d be nice to fill it in a bit…”

“Let me go check on Gothi first,” she told him. “Then I’ll meet ya over there. Sound good?”

Hiccup nodded. “Alright. See you in a bit then.” He looked at the others, using a quick nod of his head to signal for them to take off.

Thora watched as the group took into the air, almost as if they were one entity. She quietly chuckled as they flew away and she leaned over, petting her dragon. “I really do need t’ come up with a name for you…” she murmured. “But what? Bone Dancer? No…Food Dancer?” She snorted at how bad that one was. “Hmm…”

Pondering it over, she lightly pulled back on the vertebra and the Boneknapper took to the air. It was only the second time she had flown with this dragon; the blizzard had kept them both grounded the last few days. Knowing now that she could go flying any time she wanted left Thora feeling giddy all over again.

What made her even more excited, however, was knowing that she no longer had to _walk_ up to Gothi’s hut. But there was one, small problem: The landing was too small for the Boneknapper. If she had been the size of Toothless, _maybe_ she would fit, but as it was, Thora was left to hop off while she was in the air. Reassuring the Boneknapper that she wouldn’t be too long and that she could wait on a lower, wider landing, Thora turned and knocked on Gothi’s door before entering.

She was greeted by the sight of the old woman sitting on a stool near the fire. Gothi was using a small shovel to pile coals atop a lidded pot and Thora knew she was baking something.

“Well, well – _someone’s_ feelin’ better,” she chuckled.

Gothi glanced up, a bit of amusement in her eyes. After finishing with the coals, she grabbed a fire poker and started writing in the ashes. ‘And I see someone has finally found herself a dragon.’

Her cheeks turned a bit pink. “Did ya really see, or did someone come an’ tell ya?” she asked.

‘I saw the two of you arrive before the blizzard hit. I was not entirely sure that I had seen it correctly; as you know, I was sick at the time. I thought it was, perhaps, a fever dream –after all, how often does one see a dragon’s skeleton flying?’ She chuckled. ‘I take it that it is one of those Boneknappers you have mentioned in the past?’

She nodded, pulling off her glove before feeling Gothi’s forehead with the back of her hand. There was no longer a temperature, letting her know the elder was, indeed, healed. “Aye, she is. Hasn’t got a name yet, though. Hiccup an’ Fishlegs want t’ do a few tests with her in the arena, so is it alright if I go do that before comin’ t’ my lessons?”

Scratching her chin, Gothi shrugged. ‘I do not see why not. Oh! Before you go, however, take a few jars of burn ointment with you and leave them at the academy. I am growing tired of the visits from Spitelout’s boy…he comes in here nearly every other night, beginning me to heal his singed backside.’ She shook her head, frowning. ‘If that fool learned to have more patience and less ego, he wouldn’t be coming up here so often!’

Thora nodded in agreement. “No kiddin’…I almost got in a fight with him earlier because he was insultin’ my dragon.”

Gothi gave her a scolding expression. ‘We need to work on your impulse control, child. You get into far too many altercations for being a future Völva. We are supposed to be the passive ones.’

Thora felt her cheeks darken in embarrassment. “Aye,” she murmured, biting her tongue as she glanced away. “I know we are…but it’s hard, ‘specially when my friends or family are in danger…”

‘We will discuss this later,’ Gothi wrote. ‘For now, go and do your tests. I do want you back here before noon, however, so you best hurry up and get over there.’

“Alright. Thanks for warnin’ me,” sighed Thora. “See ya in a bit.” Leaving the hut, she peeked over the edge of the cliff only to see the Boneknapper looking up at her like a puppy seeing its owner. Smiling, she stepped back as the dragon took to the air.

Knowing it would be difficult for Thora to climb on from the front, she turned around, offering her tail as a sort of ladder. Her entire body bobbed up and down as she did her best to stay level with the hut, though she was able to feel Thora easily making her way along the stolen spinal column to her seat. Once her rider was seated, she flew higher into the sky, letting Thora steer her wherever she pleased.

“What do ya think ‘bout the name ‘Death Dance’?” Thora questioned after some minutes. She was taking the long way to the academy, enjoying the freedom of having her own dragon.

The dragon glanced back at her, making a pleased noise.

“Ya like that?” she chuckled, scratching the side of the Boneknapper’s neck. “Well then, that’ll be your name: Death Dance. Should strike some fear into any future enemies, eh?” Grinning, she finally steered Death Dance towards the academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Just wanted to give you a little update on my mom, since last chapter I mentioned she was in the hospital for 10 days. She's back home now and nearly back to normal! Yaay! We just need to work on building her strength back up. 
> 
> Anyway. With that, I hope you guys enjoyed this short lil' chapter! If you did, please leave a comment~ I'd love to know what you guys think of the story overall and if you prefer the shorter or longer chapters! Anything helps!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Some weeks and many trials had passed for Berk. A new dragon, called the Whispering Death, had reared its ugly head on the island only to be driven away by Hiccup and the other dragon riders, but not before it left the island riddled with its many underground tunnels.

About a week after that, the village had been invaded by yet another type of dragon, the Changewing, when Fishlegs accidentally mistook one of their eggs as a precious stone. He had returned the egg to the nest, but his efforts to keep any angry dragons at bay had been in vain -Snotlout had followed and stolen many more eggs, selling them to unsuspecting Hairy Hooligans who thought them to be ‘Stones of Good Fortune’. After that debacle, Snotlout had been sentenced to shoveling out the dragon stalls for a week.

To top things off, just a couple of days later -and few days before the Parade of Bork-, Hiccup and Toothless had been kidnapped by Alvin the Treacherous. Thanks to Hiccup’s quick thinking, Toothless’ stubbornness, and some unexpected help from Mildew of all people, the two of them were able to escape with no injury.

Needless to say, it had been a busy time for Berk.

Now, however, things were beginning to seem fairly calm once again. As she attempted to alter her everyday apron dress, Thora wondered if it was because it was because Winter was changing into Devastating Winter. There were only about four hours of sunlight per day, leaving the night long and eerily quiet –not a good combination for would-be attackers.

Gothi had told her the days were such because Hel wanted to give the mortals of Midgard a taste of what a dishonorable death would be like, and so she convinced the Æsir and the Vanir to make the days short and the nights long. Hiccup supposed it was something more earthly, like the sun traveling further south in the winter, leaving the north cold and dark. In summer, he also said, the sun would travel back north, giving them longer, warmer days.

As much as she loved Hiccup, Thora thought Gothi’s explanation far more likely to be true. Though, she had to admit, it was curious how the sun seemed to be a bit off course come the cold seasons.

Cursing under her breath, she stuck the tip of her finger into her mouth as she pricked it with the needle. She sighed, finger still in her mouth, as she held up the altered part of her dress -an extra panel of cloth, about six inches wide and placed between two other, older panels, had been added to the side seam, giving her more room to grow.

‘I really need to stop growing,’ she thought, checking her finger. No blood oozed from the tiny stab wound. Inspecting her stitches better now that she had two hands, she tugged on both sides of the fabric. They didn’t have much give to them, letting her know she had done a decent job. ‘Not only am I getting taller _again_ , but it’s starting to get hard to see anything below my chest…’ Frowning, she looked down at herself.

“Don’t ya dare get much bigger,” she threatened, poking one of her breasts in annoyance, “or I’ll do what the Amazons do an’ cut one o’ ya off.”

Tugging the apron dress on over her head, she reached back and felt for the tail hole. She pulled her tail through the opening before using it to pull her hair out from the back of the overdress. Then, she started putting her sewing things away in a small, wooden box, before rising to her feet and setting the box on a shelf.  Outside, she could hear Death Dance snoring peacefully beside the house, all cozy in her roost.  She smiled, lightly shaking her head.

The two of them had already been on many trips together, most of them involving going to Healer’s Island and getting herbs for Gothi. Somehow, the parts of the island managed to stay rather warm at all times of the year, leaving quite a bit of its plant population alive and flourishing even in the dead of winter. She supposed it was thanks to the many hot springs and volcanic vents found tucked away here and there on the island.

Death Dance’s snoring abruptly stopped and Thora paused for a moment, her eyes narrowed. She heard a dragon land a couple of yards away from the house, though she was unable to tell what sort of dragon it was -most of them sounded the same, even to her. Going to the door, she opened it just in time to find Astrid lifting her hand to knock. She blinked, surprised to see the blonde teen standing there.

“Er…hi, Astrid?” she spoke, her head cocked ever so slightly to the side.

Astrid pulled the scarf covering the lower half of her face down, a small and somewhat nervous grin on her lips. “Hey, Thora! Um…Mind if I come in and talk with you? It’s pretty chilly out here.”

Stepping aside, Thora motioned for her to come in. As she did so, Thora stuck her head outside. “Stormfly, go ahead an’ go into Death’s roost -it’s nice an’ toasty in there.”

The dragon made a noise of appreciation before hurrying forward and ducking into the building next-door.

Closing the door behind her, Thora found Astrid already by the fire, pulling off her many layers of clothing. “Would ya, er, like some tea? I’ve got a fresh kettle o’ apple-nutmeg tea brewed up.”

She shook her head, unbuckling a wide belt from around her waist before removing her white, furry outer coat. “Not much of a tea drinker. If you had any ale though, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Nodding, Thora went into the pantry and filled a mug with the drink before returning to the hearth. “So…er…what did ya need t’ talk with me about?” she questioned, handing the mug to a very grateful Astrid.

She took a long drink from the mug before sitting down on the floor. Surrounded by piles of fur, Thora thought she looked very much like one of the foreign trappers Trader Johann had brought with him a few years ago –she just needed some facial tattoos to complete the look. “Well, Hiccup has tasked me with coming up with a training exercise for the dragon riders,” she began, “and I’ve come up with an awesome idea for one.”

“Oh?” Grabbing her comb, she began untangling her hair.

Astrid nodded, flicking a spark from the back of her hand as it landed on her skin. “All of us have to navigate across Dragon Island on our own during the night. No tamed dragons, no camping gear -just us by all by our lonesome.”

“Sounds a bit dangerous, to be honest,” Thora admitted, frowning slightly.

“Oh, it is. But how else are we supposed to learn how to handle ourselves if we get separated from our dragons?” she proposed. “But it’s going to be fun, that I _also_ know. But it’s also why I’m here: To ask you to come along in case anyone gets hurt.” She glanced down at her scarf, which she had lain on the hearthstones and found herself a bit amused to see it steaming thanks to the hot rocks. “Of course, you and Death Dance would be allowed to stay together, since you’ll need to fly around once in a while to see if anyone’s gotten into trouble.”

Thora cocked a brow as she fought a particularly dense snarl in her hair. “I suppose I could do that,” she replied, “but I have t’ know when this exercise is goin’ t’ happen. Gothi’s been usin’ the long nights as an excuse t’ start keepin’ me late an’ workin’ on goin’ into trances.”

At that, Astrid raised a brow in confusion. “Trances?” she repeated. “What for?”

“To start learnin’ how t’ do divination things or for if ever I need t’ speak with the gods,” she replied. “Gothi says it’s one o’ the harder magical things I’ll learn, because I have t’ take extra caution t’ not walk the wrong paths while in the trance. If I _do_ take a wrong path, I may never wake up from it.” She shrugged before wincing as she accidentally tugged at some of finer hairs.

Astrid stared at her, eyes wide in horror. “You mean you could _kill_ yourself while learning how to do that?!” she cried, not noticing when Thora flinched. “Why is she teaching you that sort of thing, then?! Why risk your life for such a thing?!”

Shrugging again, Thora tossed the combed portion of her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she told her, “it’ll be a long while yet before I find myself actually on any o’ the paths. Right now, it’s just a struggle finding the right way to get me t’ fall into the trance!” She let out a laugh, though it brought little reassurance to the blonde.

“Still…that seems like something that’s too dangerous to do.” She took a long, slow drink from her ale, enjoying the warmth the alcohol brought to her body.

“The same could be said o’ ridin’ dragons or wieldin’ weapons.” Getting another section of hair knot-free, she tossed it back with the rest. “It takes practice an’ patience t’ do, but with time, it’ll still be dangerous, but less so than when ya had no experience.”

Astrid nodded in concession. “That is true,” she sighed, “so I suppose you’re right in that regard. However, _I_ still think it’s something _way_ too risky to do.”

Thora grinned. “That’s why I’m t’ healer an’ you’re the warrior,” she replied wryly.

At that, the blonde raised a brow and smirked. “I wouldn’t say you’re _not_ a warrior,” she commented. “I’ve seen you get in fights before -and you’ve won most of them. Sure, you lost against Alvin, but he has _far_ more experience fighting than us. But you _did_ take his ear off.” Leaning back, she rested her weight behind her on her palms. “I’d say you’re kind of like Eir, a warrior _and_ a healer all rolled into one.”

“Funny. Gothi was tellin’ me how I needed t’ be less like Freya an’ more like Eir a while back,” she chuckled.

“Less like Freya?” she repeated, eyes widening slightly in confusion. “Uh, no offense, Thora, but I don’t really see you going around in a chariot pulled by cats and seducing people…”

Thora laughed. “I’m fairly certain Gothi meant the ‘Goddess o’ Battle’ aspect o’ Freya an’ not the ‘Goddess o’ Beauty an’ Love’ part.”

Astrid’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “…I always forget she’s a goddess of war,” she murmured.

“An’ death,” Thora added. “Why do ya forget?”

“Well, she’s a goddess of magic, fertility, love, and beauty! Why would someone like that want to be associated with war and death, too?”

Thora lifted her brow; Astrid -of all people!- was asking _that_? “Well, why do _you_ want t’ be a warrior?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re beautiful, you’re the envy o’ almost all the teen females on Berk because all the guys want ya, an’ -no doubt- you’ll bear many children when ya eventually marry.” Reaching over with her tail, she lightly nudged her shoulder. “Why would a person like _you_ want t’ be associated with war an’ death like a warrior?”

Still frowning, but beginning to understand Thora’s point, she answered, “Because I want to be able to protect myself and my loved ones should something happen. And because I want to prove to the men that women can be just as good of warriors as they are.”

Again, Thora grinned. “So, now, why do ya think Freya is also a goddess o’ war an’ death?”

“Probably for the same reasons…especially since her husband is constantly away,” Astrid replied. “Since she’s so beautiful, Freya had to learn to fight in order to protect herself from unwanted suitors, and, when her daughters were born, she had to protect them. But I don’t get why you used me an example.” She then let out a small laugh. “I’m not the envy of _anyone_!”

“Try tellin’ that t’ the rest o’ us females,” Thora chuckled. “You’re like, the epitome o’ a perfect Viking woman, Astrid. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re carin’, _an’_ you’re beautiful. Ya can’t tell me ya haven’t noticed how basically every guy our age flirts with ya whenever you’re around. Hel’s gate, even some o’ the girls flirt with ya!”

The frown returned to her face. “I mean, I know Snotlout flirts with me a lot…and Hiccup sometimes flirts -but c’mon. No one else does!”

Thora held out her hand, using her fingers to help illustrate her point as she began listing off the various methods of flirting amongst the Hairy Hooligan teens. “Egil is subtle when he does it; he gives ya extra bread at no charge an’ tends t’ give ya the freshest, sweetest loaves. Einarr Svenson always starts liftin’ heavy objects when you _an’_ Ruffnut are around, as well as whistlin’ at ya two an’ yellin’ compliments. Yngling Berg becomes a beet-red, stammering mess…Oh, an’ whenever his twin, Kenna, asks ya for wrestlin’ matches, she wants t’ do a different sort o’ wrestlin’. Hel, I’ve even tried flirtin’ with ya before, but that was before I knew what type o’ person I was into.”

Astrid looked down into her nearly-empty ale mug, her cheeks burning by now. “I guess I never really paid any attention to them,” she murmured, “because I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

“Which ya don’t have t’ worry about, because Hiccup only has eyes for you.” She started working on untangling the final section of her hair.

She glanced up, eyes wide. “How did…?”

Thora cocked a brow. “I’m sorry, Astrid, but you’re not the most subtle person. For one, you’ve kissed him on the mouth at _least_ four times within eyeshot o’ the whole village.” She frowned at her hair as her comb became stuck in a knot. “Secondly, whenever ya look at him –ouch- your eyes get filled with a mixture o’ admiration an’ affection.” Managing to free the comb, she started to carefully work her way through the bottom of the knot. “But, like I said, he’s only got eyes for ya, so you’ve nothin’ t’ worry about.”

“Except if Stoick tries to marry him-”

“ _Don’t_ even think ‘bout that,” she interrupted Astrid. “Uncle Stoick isn’t goin’ t’ force Hiccup into any unwanted betrothals t’ strengthen alliances or the like. If anythin’, he’d forced _himself_ t’ get remarried for those reasons.” Now that her hair was free of tangles, she began braiding the difference sections. “But, that’s ‘bout as likely as _me_ gettin’ married an’ far off our original subject. Ya said ya wanted my help with this trainin’ exercise o’ yours, but I need t’ know when it’s goin’ t’ happen.”

Astrid nodded, more than a little thankful for the sudden change in topic. “Three nights from now. Do you think you can do it?”

“More than likely. I’ll have t’ do some sweet talkin’ t’ Gothi, but I’m sure she won’t mind givin’ me a couple o’ days off.” Tying off a completed braid, she tossed it over her shoulder before grabbing another section of hair. “Especially if I sweeten the deal by tellin’ her I’ll do some scavengin’ for roots.”

At that, Astrid chuckled. “If you do that, then I’m sure she’ll give you the time off. Though, I’m curious: Why aren’t you at her place today?”

Thora’s cheeks darkened and she looked away in embarrassment. “Er…well, t’ be honest…it’s because this mornin’, I kind o’…burst the seams o’ all my clothes…”

She raised her brow, looking at the half-troll in confusion. “You did…what now?”

“I’m goin’ through another growth spurt an’ I guess I haven’t paid enough attention t’ it,” she sighed. “So this mornin’, when I went t’ pick up somethin’ I dropped, most o’ the seams just kind o’ burst open. Thankfully, da’ was in the pantry, so I was able t’ cover up before he could see anythin’.”

Astrid cringed at the thought of _her_ clothes tearing due to a growth spurt –not that it was likely to occur. She was entirely human and a fairly lanky one, despite all her training. “That’s kind of weird. I mean, I haven’t really noticed anything different about you, so it couldn’t have been that bad of a growing spell?”

“Let me give ya bit o’ an idea.” Standing up, she was forced to step to the side so that she stood between two of the beams supporting the upper floor, lest she hit her head. “This isn’t even the worst part o’ it, either.”

“What…what _is_ the worst part?” Astrid questioned, staring up at her in surprise. How did she not notice her height when she came in…?

“The fact tha’ I can’t salvage my trousers an’ my hose don’t fit.” She scrunched her nose up and sat back down. “I don’t know how women can walk around in summer in just their dresses with no hose underneath. It’s like my thighs have glued themselves together with honey an’ shark skin!” She shook her head and cursed.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You just made me very glad that I don’t have that problem,” she giggled. “It doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“It’s like ridin’ a dragon with no trousers an’ no saddle.”

Astrid shuddered at the thought. “Why don’t you use an old pair of your dad’s trousers?”

“He doesn’t have any, an’ if he did, I would need t’ burn them. Ya know how bad my da’ smells! He barely bathes, let alone washes his clothes!” she laughed. “I think I’ll use an old sheet or somethin’ an’ try t’ make a pair o’ short trousers later.”

“Good idea.” She stood up, beginning to put on her various layers of outerwear again. “I’ve got to head home, but be sure to let me know in the next couple of days if Gothi lets you help us out, alright?”

Thora nodded, also standing up so she could escort Astrid to the door. “If I can’t find ya, I’ll have Hiccup tell ya the answer,” she replied, “but, like I said, I’m fairly certain Gothi will let me go.”

Astrid chuckled. “Alright then. I’ll probably see you in a few days if you don’t follow the wrong path in one of your trances,” she grinned.

Rolling her eyes, Thora also let out a small laugh. “I doubt I’ll even come close t’ fallin’ into a trance, let alone walkin’ a wrong path.”

“Either way, be careful. We don’t need Berk’s next Völva heading to the afterlife during her training.” She whistled and Stormfly stuck her head out of Death Dance’s roost, a fish hanging out of her mouth. “Oh, grabbed yourself a little snack, did you?”

Making a noise of amusement, Stormfly quickly finished off the fish before squawking a goodbye at the Boneknapper. She darted out of the building as Death Dance poked her head out, a goodbye leaving her mouth as well. Before letting Astrid mount her, Stormfly stretched her wings and shook her head, earning a small laugh from her rider.

“I take it you also took a small nap?” Astrid questioned, smirking. “That’s fine. We’ve been flying all over the island today; you deserved a break.”

Stormfly nuzzled her cheek before turning her head, watching as Thora went over to Death Dance. Her eyes focused on the tail trailing behind Thora, but she knew better than to go chasing it –the last time she had tried that, the half-troll had jumped into the well…

“Have a safe flight,” Thora told Astrid as the blonde mounted her dragon. She, on the other hand, started scratched Death Dance under her chin, earning a throaty noise of glee from the large dragon. “Don’t get too-” As she looked over her shoulder, she found Astrid already gone. Shrugging, she patted Death Dance atop the nose. “We’ll go for a short flight before my lessons tomorrow, alright?” she quietly promised the dragon.

The Boneknapper made a noise deep in her throat before lightly nudging her shoulder. Before Thora could react, she had retreated back into her roost and lay back down atop the small pile of bones that was her bed. Rolling her eyes with a grin, Thora dismissively waved her hand at the dragon before heading back inside her own house.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, the dragon riders were assembled in the Academy, listening to Hiccup talk while their dragons ran around, playing with one another.

“Now remember: When we get to the island,” Hiccup reminded them, “we won’t be using _any_ dragons to help us and we won’t have _any_ gear with us, save the lanterns and whatever weapons you’ve got hidden on your person.”

“Great! We’re all well- _armed_ then,” Tuffnut grinned. “So, shall we _leg_ it to Dragon Island, then?”

The others groaned at his bad pun.

“We need to take this serious,” Hiccup sighed, rubbing his forehead. “There will be times that we find ourselves separated from not just our dragons, but the other riders as well.”

Astrid stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s these times that we’re at our most vulnerable, especially if Alvin is beginning to train dragons. So, while we know how to _fight_ without dragons, we need to know how to survive without them, too.”

“Uh…But we _know_ how to live without dragons,” Ruffnut told her. “We did it our whole lives, remember?”

“Living is not the same as surviving,” Fishlegs responded. “What Astrid means is that we’re going to be in a hostile environment full of wild, possibly harmful, dragons and _that’s_ something we’ve never experienced without our own dragons before.”

Frowning, Ruffnut leaned against Tuffnut’s back, her arms crossed over her chest and her legs crossed as well. “So what you’re saying is, we’re going to be left totally defenseless in the middle of nowhere with the expectation that we’ll all see each other come morning?”

“Exactly!” Hiccup chirped, thrilled that she had finally understood the concept of the training exercise. “That’s _exactly_ what we’ll be doing.”

“Sounds like something our mom would make us do,” Tuffnut groaned, slouching forward. His action caused Ruffnut to slide down his back and hit her head on the ground; luckily, her helmet was protecting her head, so only a dull, metallic ‘thud’ rang out.

Snotlout looked up at the sky, his brow rising. “It’s going to be dark soon. Why are we still _here_?” he demanded. “I thought this exercise was supposed to take place on Dragon Island?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be leaving soon,” Astrid told him, “and then you can have all the encounters with wild dragons that your cold, black heart can handle.”

He frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he saw the smug look on her face. Scrunching his nose up slightly, he turned away from her.

No more than five minutes later, they could hear snow crunching above the Academy. Turning, they looked up to find Thora and Death Dance outside the entrance; the Boneknapper was too big to enter the arena.

“Sorry we’re late,” called Thora, pulling down the scarf covering her nose and mouth. “Da’ had me helpin’ him for a bit in the forge.”

“That’s alright,” Hiccup grinned. “So long as you made it.”

Snotlout spun around, staring at Hiccup and Astrid in s mixture of anger and disbelief. “Wait, _SHE’S_ coming, too?” he snapped. “She’s not one of us! Why is she coming?”

Hiccup sighed and rolled his eyes; he knew Snotlout would have this sort of reaction. “To be fair, Snotlout, she _is_ a dragon rider now, even if she isn’t a part of our group. And she’s coming with us because Astrid and I both have the feeling we’ll need a medic at some point during the night. Since Gothi’s a bit…susceptible to the cold weather, we thought Thora would be the next best thing.”

The twins grinned. “Yeah! We’ll have someone to bug all night!” they chorused, high-fiving one another.

“That’s what ya _think_ ,” Thora smirked. “Unlike the rest o’ ya, I’m allowed t’ keep my dragon so I can fly around an’ scout out any injured people.”

Snotlout’s nostrils flared out in anger as he continued to glare at Hiccup. “Not only is she coming with us, but she’s _also_ getting special flying privileges while the rest of us have to hoof it?! How is any of that fair!?”

“You’ll be cryin’ somethin’ different when I’m pullin’ a bunch o’ wild dragon teeth out o’ your arse cheek later tonight,” growled Thora.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and keep thinking that, monster. I’m _way_ too good to get bitten by—“ Snotlout suddenly doubled over as Tuffnut’s fist slammed into his stomach.

“Me ‘n Ruffnut are the only ones allowed to pick on Thora,” he scolded, popping his knuckles threateningly.

Ruffnut frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Remember that next time you call her any hurtful names. Got that?”

Snotlout could only wheeze.

The other’s stared at the twins, taken aback by their reaction to Snotlout’s words. While they were normally violent, it had always been a playful sort of violent -not an _angry_ sort of violent. Rubbing the back of his neck, Hiccup let out a small, nervous chuckle and started heading towards Toothless.

“So, ah, shall we get going?” he suggested, feeling the mood instantly change once more. This time, however, it was a pleasant change. “Don’t want to waste this last bit of sunlight, after all!” He laughed again.

Astrid followed suit, giving him a small nudge on the shoulder. “Nice save there,” she told him, a small grin on her lips.

His cheeks turned a bit pink, but he smiled in return.

Thora waited for the riders to fly out of the arena before taking to the air with Death Dance. She kept towards the back of the group, not wanting to interrupt any special flying formations they had come up with or anything important Hiccup had to say. Like Snotlout had pointed out, she _wasn’t_ a part of their group, and she didn’t want to act like she was. Death Dance seemed to share her sentiments, making sure to slow her speed if she started to overtake Meatlug or adjust her position if she drifted a bit nearer to the others.

The twins, however, felt that Thora and Death Dance were being _too_ considerate.

“Hey! Thora!” called Ruffnut. “Why don’t you fly closer to us, huh? Worried your big ol’ dragon will scare our dragons?” she taunted, a playful grin hidden beneath her scarf.

Her brow rising, Thora rolled her eyes and laughed. “No,” she called back. “Just don’t want t’ get in the way o’ things.”

Tuffnut made some sort of noise. “Oh, c’mon -we’re just flying to Dragon Island. It’s not like we’re going off to attack Alvin or anything. Get your butt up here!”

“Yeah! All this yelling is making my throat scratchy!”

Her brow still raised, Thora made a mental note to force some honey down Ruffnut’s throat when they landed. The blonde had done hardly any yelling; her throat shouldn’t have been scratchy already. Then again, Ruffnut’s voice had always been on the raspy side…

“This better?” she questioned, steering Death Dance to fly alongside Barf and Belch. “Or should I have Death carry the three o’ ya on her back?”

Tuffnut’s grin was almost visible beneath his scarf. “Uh, duh! Now we don’t have to yell as much.” He tried to stick his tongue out at her, but the scarf blocked the action.

“Er, Tuff? T’ be honest, ya don’t have t’ yell at all. Even with the wind rushin’ by, I can hear ya just fine if ya used your indoor voice,” she told him, making sure to keep her voice loud enough for the others to hear.

Ruffnut slouched over the top of Barf’s head. “Sure, _now_ you tell us that! That would have been useful _before_ we shouted at you.”

Thora laughed. “Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t get t’ fly around with ya as often as I’d like. If I did, then ya would have known.”

“True,” Tuffnut conceded. “But do you have anything for sore throats in your bag? Because all this cold air is making my nose and throat a bit sore.”

“I’ll give each o’ ya a dose o’ honey when we land,” she promised.

“Ooh, honey!” chirped Fishlegs, who was flying just behind the twins. “Can’t say I don’t mind _that_ sort of medicine!”

Hiccup glanced back at them. “You might want to warm that honey up, then,” he told his cousin, “because I have a feeling most of us are going to need all the time we can get navigating that island.”

She shrugged. “Just remember t’ keep the north star t’ your right at all times,” she replied. “That’ll make things a wee bit easier. Won’t help ya against the wild dragons, though.”

“Like that’s going to make any difference when we’re trying to cross the stupid island,” Snotlout stated. “The stars are only useful when you can _see_ them –most of Dragon Island is covered in forest!”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Snotlout, it’s _winter_ –the trees don’t have leaves.”

“What about the evergreen ones, huh?” He smirked proudly, though it was hidden under his scarf. “Those don’t shed their needles.”

“Then you either climb one or wait until you come to a clearing,” Hiccup called. By his tone, the others could tell that he, too, had rolled his eyes.

Snotlout opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he realized he had no argument against Hiccup’s logic.

 

Before long, the group found themselves landing on the western shores of Dragon Island. The foot of the volcano, as well as the lands around it, were covered by a light dusting a snow; it seemed the storms that left Berk covered in mountains of snow wore themselves out by the time they reached this place. Most of the wreckage left by the Green Death had been carried away by the tides, though there were still pieces of broken ship and smashed catapults lying close to the foot of the volcano.

In the distance, the skeleton of the Green Death was just barely visible in the dim starlight, the bones an eerie reminder of that day.

Dismounting from Toothless, Hiccup turned and looked at the others. “Alright. One of us is going to have to skip the drill and take the dragons to the cave on the other side of the island. That way, they won’t try to help us.”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut threw they hands into the air, but Tuffnut was just a fraction of a second faster. ‘Ooh, ooh! Me! Me, I’ll do it!” he cried, frantically waving his arm and purposefully jumping in front of his twin.

“Not fair!” Ruffnut pouted, giving her brother a shove.

Hiccup gave her an apologetic smile. “Maybe next time, Ruff,” he told her. “Now, Tuffnut, you need to remember that you need to keep your eye on the dragons at _all_ times. We can’t have them escaping.”

Tuffnut puffed his chest out proudly and pointed at himself. “Hiccup, you’re only talking to the _best_ dragon-sitter Berk has ever seen,” he declared. “None of them will escape my watchful gaze, that I promise you!”

He suddenly spun around, pointing at Death Dance, who had begun preening herself as she waited for a command. She looked up, startled. “What do you think you’re doing, missy?” he demanded, hands on his hips. “This is no time to be cleaning yourself!”

Seeing that it was just Tuffnut being…well, Tuffnut, she snorted and lightly shoved him away with her tail before going back to her preening. He frowned.

“Such blatant disregard for authority…” He made disappointed noise with his tongue. “Thora, I would have thought you’d teach your dragon better.”

Cocking her brow, Thora chuckled. “Uh-huh…So, ya want me t’ come with ya while ya take the dragons to the other side or should I just take off an’ leave ya all by your lonesome?”

He frowned, brow rising. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the others lighting their lanterns in preparation of taking off into the wilderness. Beyond that, he was able to see the faint silhouette of the Green Death –which he would have to walk by in order to get the dragons to the cave, as it was the shortest and quickest route across the island. Swallowing hard, he crossed his arms and looked back at Thora.

“While I’m certainly brave enough to make the journey on my own –after all, I am dragon-sitting _five_ dragons- I wouldn’t mind a bit of company,” he replied, his matter-of-fact tone betraying the bit of fear he felt.

With a knowing smile hidden under her scarf, Thora dismounted from Death Dance and started to walk alongside him. “Don’t worry. I don’t really want t’ go by that giant skeleton either.”

He frowned, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, sticking his nose in the air. “And even if I did, I have a job to do.” Turning around and beginning to walk backwards, he made sure the other dragons were following him. “Come on, Meatlug –Fishlegs will _probably_ come get you in the morning.”

The Gronckle looked at him, her lower jaw quivering slightly as Fishlegs headed off into the night. Hanging her head in defeat, she began to trail after the group. Death Dance gave her a small, encouraging nudge as well as made a throaty, trilling sort of noise. It seemed to cheer Meatlug up a bit and she made a noise in return.

“Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to understand what the dragons are saying?” Tuffnut questioned, putting his hands behind his head. He continued to walk backwards, knowing the beach was relatively clear of obstructions.

Thora shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve thought much ‘bout it. I would imagine it’d be handy, though –especially if they’re sick. Then they could tell ya what was makin’ them feel bad an’ ya can better help them.”

His brow rose. “That’s boring stuff,” he told her with a small laugh, “but yeah, I can see how that’d be handy, especially for you. I’m talking about hearing their insults towards each other or what kind of gossip dragons have. I bet it’s really juicy stuff, like what males tried to kill each other that day or if they found any good deer carcasses to scavenge off of.”

“Tuff, that’s gross,” she laughed. “An’ we know our dragons don’t scavenge from deer. They’re fish eaters.”

“Just because _our_ dragons are pescatarians, doesn’t mean _all_ dragons are pescatarians. Like, I’m pretty sure Death Dance would eat other meat, since she needs bones.”

She looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Er…Tuff? What’s a pescatarian?”

“Oh. Uh, it’s like…someone or something that doesn’t eat meat _except_ for fish. They still eat vegetables and fruits and stuff. Just nothing like yak or cow or boar or deer. Weird, I know, but it’s their choice, not mine, so I’m not going to question it.” He shrugged. “Anyway. Yeah, like I was saying, I’m pretty sure Death there has eaten her fair share of deer. And we know Typhoomerangs eat boar –we found some roasted, partially eaten ones near the spot where we met Scorch’s mom.”

“What a lovely thing t’ find. Did they come with sides an’ a sauce?” she joked. Suddenly, she stopped her in her tracks and smacked her forehead. “Damn it!” she murmured under her breath.

Tuffnut stopped as well, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot t’ give everyone a spoonful o’ honey!” she told him. “I wanted t’ make sure Ruffnut, especially, got some because her voice was soundin’ raspier than normal.”

He let out a laugh. “Is that all? I thought it was going to be something really bad, like you forgot your entire medical satchel or left the kettle over the fire.”

Shaking her head, she sighed and opened her bag. Pulling out a spoon and a jar, used her tail to open the jar. “Thank the gods I remembered my bag, otherwise it’d be completely pointless for me t’ even be here.”

“You could use your magic if someone got hurt. Ooh…” He took the heaping spoonful of honey from her as she offered it to him. Honey was a bit of a rare treat for Vikings; getting it was dangerous work and there were tales of some honey-hunters dying from the amount of times they had been stung.

“Gothi would kill me.”

“She wouldn’t have to know.” He was pleasantly surprised to find that the honey had a strong blackberry flavor to it. “Mmm…can I have another spoon of this?”

Her brow rose and she plucked the spoon back, a smirk on her lips. “Ya wish,” she told him. “An’ while that’s true ‘bout Gothi, ya gotta remember: She _always_ knows. I could sneeze _once_ out here an’ then, day after tomorrow, she’ll have me guzzlin’ ginger-lemon tea.” Closing the honey, she tucked it back in her bag along with the spoon.

He pouted. “Aw, c’mon –Another spoonful isn’t going to hurt.” By now, they had started walking again.

“No, but I don’t have very much an’ I was already nice t’ ya by givin’ ya _that_ much on the spoon. Ya know how expensive this stuff is? Cost me ten gold just for this lil’ pot.”

“Wait.” Cocking his brow, Tuffnut looked up at her in confusion. “You _paid_ for that honey? You mean Gothi didn’t just _give_ it to you like the rest of your medicine supply stuff?”

It was Thora’s turn to give him an odd look. “Gothi doesn’t just _give_ me medicinal supplies, Tuffnut,” she responded. “I’ve had t’ hunt down the ingredients an’ make them myself. An’ don’t get me started on huntin’ out the herbs for her. Which I also have t’ do tonight…” She sighed. “Only way she agreed t’ give me the next two days off was if I agreed t’ find her some dragon scale grass an’ some bark o’ a Fire Tree…”

Tuffnut cocked his brow. “Fire tree? Never heard of it.”

“That’s because it only grows on this island. Gothi said she’s only used the bark twice, back when some sort o’ plague swept through the village. Claimed it was a gift sent by the gods, because the medicine she made with it saved all but three lives.”

The wind shifted, bringing with it a foul stench of death and decay. Both teens gagged and quickly covered their faces with their scarves. Holding up his lantern, Tuffnut revealed the sight before them: The majority of the Green Death was nothing more than shattered bones lying in a heap. The rest of it, however, was partially intact and had rotting pieces of charred flesh clinging to it.

Though cold, Dragon Island wasn’t cold enough just yet to mask the smell.

Death Dance let out a sound akin to a squeal of delight. Before Thora could stop her, she darted forward and dove, head-first, into the pile of bones. The other dragons made noises of horror and disgust –why in the world would she do that!?

“Really, Death? You’re goin’ t’ scavenge for bones in _that_ thing?” she questioned, nose scrunched up in distaste. “That’s just gross.”

Tuffnut smirked. “What was that you were saying about our dragons and scavenging, eh?”

Rolling her eyes, she lightly punched his shoulder. “Shush, you. Death Dance! You get out o’ that rottin’ pile o’ bones this instant!”

Death Dance merely wiggled her hindquarters as she dug deeper into the pile. Finding a suitable bone, she pulled it out of the mound and covered it in spit –at least, Thora _thought_ it was spit. If there had been more light, she would have seen that it was not spit and, in fact, an incredibly sticky substance used by her species to attach bones to their skin. With her bone now covered in this stuff, she flipped herself over, adhering the bone to the left side of her haunch.

“Death Dance…” Thora’s tone was sterner this time, though the dragon still ignored her.

“You’ve got a vain dragon, Thora,” Tuffnut told her with a laugh. “Look at how picky she’s being!”

Sighing in defeat, she ran a hand over her hair. “A lot o’ her current bones are fairly damaged,” she admitted, “so I can see why this thing is like a gold mine t’ her.” Shaking her head, she started to walk once more. “Death Dance, you’ll know how t’ find me when you’re done.”

“Wait, you’re just going to let her stay here?” Tuffnut questioned, frowning as he stayed rooted to the spot.

“Er…aye? What choice do I have?” She used her tail to drag Tuffnut after her.

He glanced back at the pile of bones, brow still raised. “But aren’t you supposed to fly around, looking for injured riders?”

“Er…I have ears an’ legs?” she chuckled. “Just because I won’t have my dragon doesn’t mean I’ll be left useless.”

“Yeah, but…you don’t have the same training as us.” His voice bore a hint of worry in it, confusing Thora. Since when did Tuffnut _worry_? “You’re not part of the academy, so you don’t have the same knowledge as us.”

Thora glanced down at him, a brow raised. “Aw, are ya scared I’ll get myself hurt?” she joked. Now that they were upwind of the rotting carcass, she removed the scarf from her face.

“A little, actually,” he confessed. “You don’t know how to go up against wild dragons like we do. And none of us know how to heal, so who’s supposed to help _you_ if you get hurt?”

Feeling her cheeks grow warm, she bit her tongue and glanced away. Knowing Tuffnut was concerned was one thing, but having him _admit_ to said concern made her worried in return. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Just because I’ve never gone against wild dragons like you lot, doesn’t mean I’m totally ignorant o’ their behavior. My da’ practically hammered the content o’ the Book o’ Dragons into my brain when I was a child.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same as hands-on experience.”

“Do ya not remember how often the village was attacked little under half a year ago?” she chuckled. “Even the youngest Hooligans have hands-on experience.”

“You _know_ that’s not what I mean,” he told her, voice stern. “Dragon attacks were different. They were in _our_ territory. Now we’re in theirs and it’s a totally different game. The dragons have the upper hand.”

She was silent for a moment, her brow raised as she glanced down at him. Why was he so worried about her? This wasn’t any different than her going off on her own into the forests of Berk –only the gods knew how many times she had to avoid dragons while hunting out roots or gathering firewood for Gobber.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he continued after a few minutes of awkward silence. “I mean, like…you’re going to be Berk’s next Völva. You’re kind of important to the island, ya know?” He shrugged. “Not to mention, Hiccup would _kill_ me if he found out I let you go without a dragon.”

“I’m not _that_ important,” she replied, “there are plenty o’ girls Gothi could train who’d be loads better than me. But, aye, Hiccup would probably kill ya, but that’s only if I did get hurt –which, mind ya, I don’t plan on doin’.”

“No one _plans_ on getting hurt, Thora. …Except me an’ Ruffnut, but that’s because we like pain. You? Not so much.”

She let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. “Tuff, please just…just give it a rest, alright? I understand why you’re worried, but trust me: I can handle myself. This won’t end up as another Alvin incident, I promise.”

It was Tuffnut’s turn to look away. “Good, because I really didn’t want to hear about you biting some dragon’s ear off –as cool as that would be.”

She quietly laughed. “Dragon’s don’t have ears, Tuffnut.”

“You know what I mean! Maybe you’d bite their nose off or a good portion of one of their wings. I don’t know!”

Thora snorted, rolling her eyes and giving him a nudge with her tail. “I doubt my teeth could get through their scales.”

“Bet you could. I mean, your tusks are pretty sharp.”

“Not so much anymore.” She poked the tip of one with her tongue. “I filed ‘em down some months ago.”

He frowned, holding the lantern up so he could see her mouth. Her tusks did, indeed, have rounded ends instead of pointed ones. “What?! Why would you do that?! That makes them useless!”

Her brow rising, she suddenly flashed him a dangerous smile –just a façade, he knew, but it still sent a shiver down his spine. “Want me t’ prove how well they still work?” she threatened, an eeriness to her voice. “I could bite off your arm if ya want. Or maybe your leg? No, no…legs are useful things, aren’t they? I guess an arm would work, though legs have so much more meat on ‘em…”

Tuffnut cracked up, though he was left mildly freaked out by her demonic demeanor. “Dude, if you come across Snotlout at any point tonight, you _need_ to do that voice to him,” he told her. “He’d wet himself in fear!”

Thora, having managed to startle herself by her own creepiness, stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “No thank ya. It’s bad enough that he calls me a monster for no reason. I don’t need t’ give him a reason t’ call me worse things.” She was glad to hear his laughter again.

He punched his palm. “Ruffnut and I can make it so he never speaks again!” he offered, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. “Dislocating the jaw is quite easy, but breaking it can be a cinch when you’ve got the proper momentum built up in a strong, blunt object-”

She wrapped her tail around his mouth, silencing him. “No. You’re not goin’ t’ break Snotlout’s jaw,” she told him, “at least, not on my behalf. An’ if I catch ya tryin’ t’ do just that, I’ll make sure ya regret it.” Coming to a complete stop, she unwrapped his mouth. “Now, here’s the cave, an’ so I’m goin’ t’ leave ya here. Keep a good eye on the dragons, aye?”

He pouted. “Are you sure you want to go out there? It’s going to be nice and toasty in this cave once I get a fire lit.”

“I _need_ t’ go out there,” she stated. “It’s the only reason I’m here, remember? T’ go around searchin’ for injured people. Meatlug’s tryin’ t’ escape.” She watched as Tuffnut spun around in time to see the Gronckle beginning to wander off, her nose pressed to the ground as she sniffed out some tasty rocks to snack on.

“Ah, ah, ah! You get into that cave, young Gronckle!” Tuffnut ordered, hurrying after her. “Come on now, all of you: In the cave. There will be plenty of rocks for you to eat in there. Anyway, you got to listen to me: I’m your boss for the night.”

Chuckling to herself, Thora crept off as Tuffnut busied himself with the dragons.

 

* * *

 

 

Some hours passed and the night grew colder. Thora was thankful for the many layers of clothing she wore, even if the weight of all the fur and velvet grew heavy after climbing a couple cliffs. She had had many close encounters with wild dragons, though she found that standing completely still made her far less noticeable when they got too close for comfort. Once twice did she have to run away so far, but she knew why: The Gronckles that had chased her were extremely territorial.

Despite the grumpy Gronckles, she found herself having quite a bit of fun exploring the unfamiliar lands. She had already collected a fair bit of Fire Tree bark –it came off in large, thin sheets and was pliable enough she could roll it like parchment- though the dragon scale grass was eluding her watchful gaze.

‘I know it’s winter, but you’re a year-round plant,’ she thought, crouching low to the ground. She ran her gloved hand over a patch of grass that defiantly stuck out of the snow, her brows furrowing. ‘Nope. Ordinary grass…’ Sighing, she stood up and stretched her left arm; though it was nearly healed, she found that she had to stretch it out more often than she used to.

She glanced up at the sky, able to catch glimpses of stars through the tangle of barren tree limbs. To her right, the North Star shone brightly, almost glinting against the black of the sky. A small smile came to her lips as she realized how peaceful everything was. It wouldn’t last long, she knew, but for now, it was a pleasant reprieve.

‘I hope Death Dance is doing alright,’ she thought, shaking some clumps of snow from the hem of her dress. Beginning to walk, she tilted her head this way and that, doing her best to listen for any sounds. ‘And Tuffnut better be keeping watch over those dragons. If I find out he’s telling them his ghost stories, he’s going to get an earful…those things are bad enough to make a deaf person run away from their sheer stupidity…’

Sighing, she ran a hand over her hair. She almost wished she hadn’t braided it back; her ears were almost numb with cold. But she could still hear with them, and she stopped moving when she heard a rustling in the undergrowth some ways away. Narrowing her eyes, she cocked her head in the direction of the sound. The crunching grew closer, though no branches snapped under the thing’s weight, letting her know it was either a Terrible Terror or a human.

Pressing herself against the trunk of a nearby tree, she waited to see what would appear. She smirked; if it was one of the riders, this would be the perfect opportunity to startle them. On the other hand, if it was a Terrible Terror, then she may be out of luck –Terrors had a tendency to travel in small groups and were hard to lose once they started chasing you. To her dismay, however, neither a rider nor a group of Terrible Terrors stepped out of the bushes.

Instead, she found herself looking down the end of a crossbow held by Dagur the Deranged.

His eyes widened in surprise and he lowered the weapon, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Thora?”

“Er…ah, hi, Dagur,” she managed to stammer out. She let out a small yelp as he suddenly gave her a tight hug.

“By the gods, it _is_ you!” he laughed, pulling back and looking up at her. Smudges of dirt were visible even through the dim starlight and a strong smell of body odor wafted past her nose. “I thought my eyes were trying to play a trick on me –I mean, a dragon couldn’t possibly be a lovely as you!” He let out a cackle as he proudly shouldered his crossbow.

“A-aye, it’s me in the flesh,” she replied, forcing a small laugh. “What brings ya all the way out here?” she questioned. “Shouldn’t ya be back home, in Berserker Bay?”

Another laugh left his mouth as he hooked his arm around her waist and started to lead her off. Thora didn’t know why she allowed him to do so. “Why else would I be here on _Dragon_ Island?” He grinned up at her. “I’m hunting dragons, of course! You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve learned about their habits! Some of those dumb reptiles have become so easy to predict, it’s almost boring killing them by now.” Stopping in his tracks, he suddenly gave her a suspicious look. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She raised her brow. “Herb huntin’,” she replied. “What else would I be doin’ here?” ‘It’s not entirely a lie, at least,’ she thought.

Dagur started leading her off again, laughing. “Of course you are!” He jokingly bopped his forehead with his crossbow. “You _are_ a healer, after all. Though, Dragon Island is a rather… _peculiar_ place to go herb hunting. And it’s quite late at night…”

“Aye, well, ya try sailin’ a wee boat all the way here from Berk just for some Fire Tree bark an’ dragon scale grass,” she retorted, a bit of sarcasm in her voice.  She ducked as they passed under a few low-hanging branches. “Er…Dagur, where are ya takin’ me?”

“To my campsite, of course!” He wore a grin as he glanced up at her. “You must be starving after such a trip after all! I happen to have some nice, roasted yak meat there.”

She warily looked down at him, biting her tongue as she used her tail to remove his arm from her waist. She hated to admit it, but the idea of food was appealing to her, but she knew better. Stepping away, she managed an apologetic smile. “That’s awfully kind o’ ya, Dagur, but I really should find that dragon scale grass an’ head back t’ Berk. Don’t want t’ be stranded here by any—”

He interrupted her with another laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! I’ve got _loads_ of the stuff at my camp. It’s what I’m using to repel the dragons from the area.” An almost _normal_ smile came to his lips as he motioned for her to keep following him. “You’d think it’d be something that _attracts_ dragons, what with its name and all, but nope. Now come along; I’ll give you some food _and_ some grass!”

‘Why do the gods hate me?’ she thought, knowing that if he had enough of the dragon scale grass to keep his entire camp safe, he had probably collected the entire island’s supply. ‘Soon as I get some of that grass, I’m out of there…I need to find at least one of the riders and let them know about Dagur.’ She began trailing after him, pulling her scarf over her nose when she realized she was downwind of him. It did little to mask the smell, but the hints of nutmeg and clove embedded in the fabric helped make it bearable.

“Er, Dagur?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, noticing the scarf but merely thinking she was cold. “Yes?”

“Just how long have ya been out here?”

He shrugged. “Oh, a couple of weeks. Probably longer. How long has it been since I visited Berk?”

Her eyes widened. ‘No wonder he smells as bad as da’!’ she thought, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “Nearly a month an’ a half ago,” she answered aloud.

“Really? It’s been _that_ long?” he chuckled, a look of disbelief on his face. “Well, then, I suppose I _should_ head back home soon. Don’t want my people thinking their _beloved_ leader was slain, after all!” He let out one of his crazed laughs.

She cringed at the sound. “Aye…Wouldn’t want t’ scare them,” she murmured. Biting her tongue, she continued to follow after him, finding it hard to keep her pace slower than his. She feared that, if she began walking alongside him, he would try to pull her against him or hold her hand.

After a few minutes of silence, Dagur glanced back at her. “So, why did you come here alone _and_ unarmed?” he questioned, a brow raised. “At least, I _assume_ you’re alone and unarmed. Then again, I could think of at least half a dozen weapons I could hide under your cloak.”

“I have a dagger, nothin’ more,” she replied, her own brow rising. “Healer, remember? I try t’ avoid causing injury.” Her tone remained pleasant.

“Even to dragons?” His voice had suddenly taken on a tone of suspicion as he looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I certainly would want more than a tiny knife to protect me against wild dragons.”

“Even the dragons.” Still, she kept her tone kind, though she felt quite the opposite at the moment. ‘Remember,’ she told herself, ‘he doesn’t know we train dragons and if he finds out, it’ll mean war and worse: Eternal exile and hatred from Berk for being the one to bring about the war. Not that a good portion of them don’t already _want_ me gone; I just don’t want to disappoint Uncle Stoick or dad…’

Putting on a slight air of arrogance, she flicked a braid over her shoulder and spoke aloud, “I’m able t’ avoid them well enough that I don’t _need_ a weapon t’ protect me.”

Smirking, Dagur continued to watch her guardedly. “Even Freya and Eir have to fight _sometimes_.”

“An’ when that time comes, I’ll put up a fight.” She smirked as well, though hers looked far more dangerous thanks to her tusks. “For now, though, I don’t see myself needin’ t’ carry my war hammer.” She could see the glow of a campfire by this point, making her glad that she would –hopefully- soon be out of his company.

“War hammer, eh?” His expression turned into a flirtier look as he tried in vain to smile handsomely at her. “Got to admit, I thought you more of a battleax sort of woman.”

“The hammer’s better for intimidatin’ people into shuttin’ up so I can give ‘em their medicine.” It was a lie; she didn’t have to intimidate anyone to take their medicine –Gothi did that well enough for her just by being in the room!

“Is that so?” The grin on his face only got wider. “I thought healers were supposed to be _gentle_ creatures?”

“It’s like ya know _nothin’_ ‘bout Hairy Hooligans.” She let out a laugh –genuine this time. “They’re more stubborn than an angry Gronckle, so ya _have_ t’ threaten—”

Dagur suddenly reached up and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Do you hear that?” he whispered, glancing around as they heard rustling in the bushes ahead. He pulled her down slightly, doing his best to hide the two of them behind a large holly bush near his campsite. “Sounds like something relatively small and weak. Like a goat or maybe a young boar on the brink of starvation…”

She rolled her eyes, unable to speak thanks to the hand over her mouth. ‘There are no goats on this island,’ she thought. Using her tail and ignoring the pain of the holly, she moved aside a few leaves in time to see Hiccup walk into the ring of light around the fire. Her eyes widened and a cry of surprised was muffled against Dagur’s palm.

Dagur, unable to see who had walked into his campsite, let go of Thora and launched himself through the bush, letting out a battle cry as he tackled Hiccup to the ground. Thora let out a squeak of concern and tried to dart forward to help her cousin, but she was slowed down by the holly snagging at every inch of her fur cloak and hair.

Realizing that he wasn’t wrestling an animal, Dagur stopped his assault only to find a rather terrified and surprised Hiccup staring at up at him from behind a shield. “Hiccup, my old friend! You’re alive!” he hooted, standing up. Grabbing the smaller teen by the shoulders, he easily lifted him off the ground.

“Uh, last time I checked,” Hiccup replied, more than a little shocked to find Dagur of all people on the island. “So, ah, haven’t seen you since-”

“Since you saved me from that dragon attack back on Berk!” Dagur finished for him. “ _You_ fought off a _Night Fury_!”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck, having almost forgotten about that day. “Oh, yes…th-the dragon attack,” he murmured, glancing away as Dagur drew his sword.

“You were like-” The Berserker began swinging his sword around wildly, making whooshing noises. Then, in a rather pathetic mockery of Hiccup’s voice, he called out, “Dagur! Save yourself!” Resuming his normal voice, he lowered his sword. “And I was all, ‘Alright, I’m out of here!’ But then you _stayed_ and you must have…” He suddenly paused, his eyes narrowed as he pointed the tip of his sword at Hiccup, advancing towards him menacingly. “So, what are _you_ doing here?” he demanded.

“Ah, what _am_ I doing here?” Hiccup murmured, rubbing the back of his once again. His mind raced as he came up with a thousand excuses, but none of them sounded plausible. Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer –Dagur did it for him.

“Don’t answer. I know _exactly_ why you’re here,” sneered the Berserker.

“Y-you do?”

“Oh yeah. I do. You’re here for the same reason I am, Hiccup.” His smirk widened and he lowered his sword. “You’re here to hunt dragons.”

Hiccup blinked –that sounded good enough for him. “Alright, you got me!” he nervously laughed. “I’m here to hunt dragons, _all_ by myself!”

“Oh, so ya _didn’t_ follow after me t’ make sure I didn’t get hurt?” Thora came stumbling out of the holly, tugging her cloak away from the prickly leaves. “An’ here I was thinkin’ ya cared ‘bout me, cousin.”

He stared at her, eyes still wide. “Thora?! What in Odin’s name are _you_ doing here?” She should have been up in the air, on Death Dance!

She found herself thankful that Dagur seemed ignorant of Hiccup’s lackluster acting abilities. “I told ya yesterday,” she sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m here huntin’ herbs.” She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as she looked down at him, her brow raised. “I thought your little dragon hunt wasn’t for another few days?”

Forcing a laugh, he shrugged. “Oh, you know me…Mister Impatient.”

Dagur looked between the two of them, his brow raised. “So…” he spoke, drawing the attention back to him, “whatever happened to that Night Fury, Hiccup?”

“Oh…ah, bad news.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the ground. “It got away.”

Eyes lighting up, Dagur grabbed his shoulders and shook him with renewed vigor. “That’s GREAT news!” he declared.

“It is?” chorused Thora and Hiccup.

“Yes!” He wrapped his arm around Hiccup’s shoulder, pulling him against his side. Thora felt oddly relieved it wasn’t her this time. “New plan! You, Thora, and I are going to hunt the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself!” he declared. “We are going to take down that Night Fury once and for all! All _three_ of us!”

Hiccup stared at him in horror. “Uh…alright?” he replied questioningly. He was about to speak further when he was suddenly yanked down onto all fours beside the fire. On the other side of Dagur, he saw that Thora, too, had been pulled down.

Dagur suddenly let out a mixture of a howl and a laugh, the sound echoing through the night. “Howl with me,” he ordered. “It feels _good!_ ”

“I don’t howl,” Thora grumbled. “ _Or_ hunt dragons…”

A half-hearted attempt at a howl came from Hiccup, however.  

 

Nearly an hour later found the three still at the campsite, Dagur sharpening his sword as Hiccup and Thora warmed themselves by the flames. After the howling, Dagur had grown rather quiet, his last words being an offer of roasted yak to his two ‘guests’. Thora warily accepted –she hadn’t eaten since that morning- but Hiccup politely declined his offer.

At last, the Berserker spoke up once more. “Hiccup, ever since I left Berk, I haven’t been able to stop thinking. About you.”

The two Hairy Hooligans cocked their brows as they looked up at him, mild concern and disgust on Hiccup’s face. “Er…that’s…kind of strange,” he admitted. “Well, ah, I’m flattered.”

“Not _you_ personally,” Dagur corrected, his nose scrunching up slightly. “I mean you _and_ that Night Fury. It’s like you…you _knew_ that dragon! It was like you were inside its head, rattling its cage! And that, my muscularly challenged friend, that’s when I decided I needed to _know_ about them -one by one.” Reaching behind him, he suddenly drew forth a Deadly Nadder spine. “The Deadly Nadder. Got _this_ in the leg. It was _awesome_!”

Thora suddenly interrupted him, her brows knitted together with concern. “What?! How long ago?” She demanded, setting aside the yak leg. “How did ya treat it? This time o’ year, all the medicinal plants are dead an’ buried!”

He blinked, taken aback by her abrupt interrogation. “Last week, sometime?” he replied. He then shrugged, leaning back slightly with a bored look. “I cleaned it with water and put my boot back on.”

Shaking her head, Thora let out a heavy sigh. “Then I’m surprised you’re not dead yet! Don’t ya know Deadly Nadder spines cause horrible infections if they break your skin?”

Hiccup looked at her questioningly for a moment. He knew well enough that Deadly Nadder spines did not such thing –Astrid or Fishlegs would have told him if they did. Then, realizing what she was trying to do, he quickly nodded in agreement. “She’s right, you know. It’s how Gobber –her dad, if you recall- lost his leg.”

Dagur merely chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “But, since I’m _not_ dead, that means everything’s alright,” he assured her. “Thank you for caring, though –it’s _very_ sweet of you.” He gave her a playful wink.

She didn’t look convinced. “Let me see it.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I said, let me see it.”

“But it’s doing fine!” he protested. Truthfully, his leg had been in quite some pain, but surely it was just because it was healing…right?

“Are _you_ the trained healer or am I?” she retorted, straightening her posture a bit to make herself look more daunting.

Hiccup did his best to restrain a snort –the last time he had seen Thora take on the pose was when she ordered Gobber to take a bath last summer. “I’d listen to her if I were you, Dagur,” he told him, caution in his voice. “Not only is she a healer, but when she gets worked up like this, it means she really _cares_ about the person.”

Thora felt her cheeks suddenly darken and she half-glared at Hiccup when a silly grin spread across Dagur’s face. Hiccup shrank back, wearing a look of total innocence.

“Fine, fine…if it’ll help make you feel better, I’ll let you see my wound,” Dagur chuckled.

Before he could move, Thora questioned, “Wait –is it on your lower leg or your upper leg?” Her cheeks were still dark with embarrassment and she made a mental note to get Hiccup back in some way –preferably in front of Astrid.

“Lower leg,” he replied, beginning to undo the straps holding his armor onto his leg.

Hiccup cocked a brow. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because if it had been his upper leg, he’d have t’ remove his trousers,” she stated.

“If it would make things easier for you, I could remove them,” Dagur told her, failing at making his voice sound innocent as he started to reach for his belt buckle.

“Uh…You do remember that I’m here, right?” Hiccup questioned, a brow raised.

Dagur merely shrugged, trying to grin innocently.

She gave Dagur a dry look. “ _Anyway_ , I don’t think my _boyfriend_ would like that very much.”

The humor on his face instantly left, being replaced by a frown. “Still taken are you?” He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he pulled off his boot. “Such a pity…You’d make a wonderful queen of the Berserkers.” Rolling up his trouser leg, he held the limb out for her to inspect while leaning back on his hands.

“Fairly certain I wouldn’t,” she replied, moving to inspect the wound. “Don’t think anyone wants a thing like me bein’ their queen.” Her voice sounded somewhat distant as her attention was focused elsewhere.

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” he chuckled. He continued talking, but Thora paid him no mind as she scooted a bit closer to him, turning his leg so that the fire lit it better.

There was a deep gash, about two inches deep, along the side of his calf. From the looks of it, his boot had taken the brunt of the damage, saving him from a far worse injury. However, despite his claims of his leg being fine, she could tell by the inflamed skin and dried blood around the wound that he was wrong.

Reaching up, she plucked off his helmet and pushed up the leather band he wore, ignoring his protests as she used her teeth to pull off her glove. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand, a look of great concentration on her face. His skin felt a bit warmer than it should –though, that could be explained away by his insulating helm. Combined with his wound, however, she knew it was more than likely the beginnings of a fever.

Inwardly, she smirked.

“Just as I thought,” she declared, putting his helmet back atop his head. “The wound’s infected. Ya already have a mild fever.” Glancing over at Hiccup, she saw a look of relief briefly wash over him.

He frowned, twisting his leg so he could get a better look at the injury. “Really? I feel fine –not sick at all.”

“Well, I did say ‘mild’,” she retorted. “Regardless, though, I can’t let ya go out huntin’. Not with your wound like this. I’ve got a few things here in my bag, but I’m not sure if they’re strong enough t’ drive the infection away. I mean, I can tend t’ the wound, but I think it’d be best –an’ safest- for ya t’ get back t’ Berserker Bay.”

“What about your magic?” he inquired, brows furrowed together.

Her eyes widened in surprised. How did he know about her magic?! “M-my m-magic?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You dad was bragging about it when I visited, saying how you could heal wounds and revitalize dried plants to make them stronger or something. Can’t you use your magic on whatever’s in your bag to help my leg?”

Thora swallowed hard, trying to find some sort of excuse as to why she couldn’t do that. Hiccup, however, beat her to it.

“Ah, she’s not very well trained in the magic yet,” he piped up, “and using the magic utterly exhausts her. We’re waiting for winter to pass so she can go to the mainland to learn it from her brothers.”

She quickly nodded in agreement. “A-aye! I mean, I could try, but, like Hiccup said, usin’ it exhausts me.”

Dagur glanced between the two of them, his brows still knitted together. He remained silent for a moment, pondering their words and behaviors. Then, with a shrug, he leaned back again. “Do what you can for it,” he told Thora, “because I’m _not_ going back home until we’ve killed that Night Fury! Speaking of which…” He suddenly turned towards Hiccup. “You said you came to hunt. Where are your weapons?”

“Funny thing…I don’t actually have any weapons with me at the moment,” Hiccup told him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t planning on hunting anything tonight –I was just trying to get my bearings, you know. As such, I just have a shield.” He glanced down at his shield, which was covered in Gronckle Iron.

Dagur cocked a brow. “Just a… _shield_?”

“Yep! Just a plain ol’ shield,” he chuckled, giving it a wiggle. He watched as Thora rummaged through her bag, searching for the weakest medicinal mixture she had. He knew, however, that anything she had with her would clear up the infection in a heartbeat.

“It’s very…ornate,” Dagur commented. “My sister had one like that. I, myself, have never felt the need to hide in combat.”

‘He has a sister?’ Thora thought, her brow rising. Unable to find anything weak, she opted for whatever would be the most painful despite its healing benefits. ‘I pray to the gods she’s where all his sanity went…’

“Yeah…so, just how long have you been out here, Dagur?” Hiccup questioned.

“Hard to tell. It’s all a blur when you’re on the hunt.” He suddenly reached over and, grabbing the back of Hiccup’s head, forced him to look upright instead of at the ground. “Eye’s front, little man!”

Hiccup cringed. “Er…Maybe you really should take a break then. Between hunting for so long and your injury-” He covered his ears as Dagur let out a wild howl; Thora had applied the medicine.

“Sorry…Forgot that this stuff is kind o’ painful t’ full-blooded humans,” Thora spoke, innocence in her voice.

“So long as it works,” Dagur replied, doing his best to not show any more signs of pain. He looked back at Hiccup. “I’m not leaving this island,” he told him. “I _know_ that Night Fury is on this island. I can feel it, in here.” He put his hand over his heart. Suddenly, he grabbed Hiccup’s hand and placed it on Hiccup’s chest. “You feel it too, don’t you, Hiccup?” His tone was odd –a mixture of determined and sincere.

Hiccup, however, did not share the same thoughts. “Ah, er…no, really. I just feel…awkward,” he admitted, not looking the redhead in the eye. He glanced down at Thora, able to see her trying her best to not snicker.

Dagur chuckled at his honesty. “You bring the funny, Hiccup! I’ll give you that! Soon as this beautiful creature finishes tending to my leg, I’ll grab my gear. Then we’re going to get us that Night Fury, _brother_.”

“Ah…’brother’?” Hiccup repeated, confused and disturbed.

“That’s right! You and me.”

“And the awkwardness continues…” Hiccup muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

 

On the other side of the island, Tuffnut was fast asleep with his back against the cave wall. Thanks to a nice, large fire in the center of the cave and all the dragons around him, he was comfortably warm even without his winter cloak. As he slept, however, he was left oblivious to what was happening around him: The dragons, having seen an upset Monstrous Nightmare fly by the cave, began creeping away.

By the time he woke up, it was too late. The dragons were long gone and the fire was starting to die. The former he didn’t notice. Getting up, he shivered and added some logs to the fire.

“One of you should have told me the fire was going out,” he yawned, still ignorant of the empty cave. “Man, it was starting to get cold in here, wasn’t it?” He laughed, holding his hands out to the flames. A sigh left his mouth as he felt his body grow warm again, and he grinned. “So, hey, any of you need to relieve yourselves? I gotta go, so speak up now.”

When he was answered by only silence –no grunts, no snores, no scraping of wings or claws against the stone- he frowned. Looking up, his jaw fell slack as he realized what had happened.

“Oh really?” he cried. “That’s how you’re going to do me?! I _don’t_ think so!” Grabbing his cloak and a lanter, he darted out of the cave while pinning the cape over his shoulder. Thankfully for him, the dragons had found it safer to stay on the ground rather than flying, so he had plenty of tracks to follow in the freshly fallen snow.

“Oh it’s on, dragons,” he grumbled. “It’s _on_.”

Right away, he was able to find the tracks of Barf and Belch. Knowing his Zippleback better than the other dragons, he headed off in its direction.

‘Can’t believe they snuck away like that,’ he thought, holding his lantern aloft. ‘And I can’t believe I didn’t hear them! It’s not like dragons are quiet or anything. At least, not _our_ dragons –except Toothless. He’s like one of mom’s farts: Silent, but deadly.’ Snickering to himself, he ducked under a low-hanging branch before tucking some of his hair behind his ear. He shivered again, not enjoying the fact that he was now out in the cold instead of inside the nice, warm cave.

‘Man…of course this couldn’t be an _easy_ night. First, Thora goes off without her dragon, then the other dragons don’t like my scary stories…And then, of course, they all had to run away!’

Looking at the sky, he raised his fist and shook it. “Loki! As one of your most devout followers, I’m disappointed that you’ve chosen tonight to play your tricks on me!” he called out to the stars. “Tonight was supposed to be the night you tricked _Ruffnut!_ ” He then paused, thinking over his words. “Unless you got us mixed up by accident. Can’t really blame you for that. Everyone gets us mixed up, even those she’s a girl and always smells like fish while I’m quite obviously a handsome guy with hair of white gold.”

Above him, a branch snapped under the weight of the snow on it and fell directly atop his head. He winced, more in surprise than pain –his helmet stopped the limb from doing any damage. Tuffnut wasn’t sure if the branch fell of its own accord or if Loki was acknowledging him, but he chose to believe the latter –especially when he soon stumbled across the slumbering form of a Hideous Zippleback.

Only, as he approached it, he failed to notice that it wasn’t _his_ Hideous Zippleback.

Smacking the dragon on the haunch, he smirked. “Rise and shine! You think you could-” His eyes widened in horror as the two heads rose up, revealing skin that was mottled blue and green –not brown and green like he had been expecting. “Oh…Ah…Ah, I thought you were someone else…” A cry left his mouth and he turned, running away, as one of the heads spewed gas at him. The second lit the gas, making an explosion; thankfully, he was just barely out of range.

Tuffnut glanced over his shoulder, letting out a curse when he realized the dragon had taken chase after him. More gas was blown at him and lit, but he threw himself forward, doing a tumble-roll to evade the explosion.

“Look, it’s just a simple misunderstanding!” he called, seeing that he was fast-approaching a tree. Smirking, he ran around it only to hear a painful thud as the Hideous Zippleback ran into it. Turning around, he snickered –it had fallen for his trick and each head was laying on the ground on either side of the tree. “Dragon trainer: One; wild Zippleback: Zero,” he bragged.

Though defeated, the wild dragon let out one more cloud of flammable gas. Its other head, however, was down for the count and couldn’t light the cloud as Tuffnut ran away.

 

* * *

 

 

Snotlout let out a cry of fear.

Spinning around, Dagur had his crossbow ready to fire only to find the reason for Snotlout’s scream to be another human. Letting out a heavy sigh, he rolled his eyes and lowered his crossbow. This was the second of Thora and Hiccup’s friends they had ‘stumbled’ across in the span of an hour and the interruptions were beginning to interrupt him. After all, he didn’t come to Dragon Island to socialize; he had come to the island to learn about dragons and then _kill_ them.

But, he had to admit, Thora and Hiccup’s had been a pleasant surprise. They, at least, provided witty banter and intelligent converse as well as medical knowledge he hadn’t realized he would need. These other two? Snothut –or whatever his name was- had done nothing but slow them down and this second one, being twice the width of any of them, would surely do the same. But then, he recalled Hiccup mentioning how he had a large friend who knew quite a bit about dragon behavior.

Perhaps he would be useful after all.

He cocked a brow as he watched Hiccup speak with this newcomer. Thora, however, stood a bit off to the side, covering her mouth as she yawned. He pitied her; it was obvious she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he needed her sensitive ears to help listen for any approaching dragons. Hiccup, too, looked tired, but it was obvious he still had quite a reserve of energy left. With his and Thora’s help, the night surely wouldn’t end in vain, would it?

Shaking his head, he let out another sigh and walked over to the group.

“Hiccup? Your definition of ‘alone’ and mine are vastly different,” he told the smaller teen. “But!” He patted Fishlegs on the cheek. “Perhaps this one could help us-”

“-Hunt dragons!” Snotlout called, a look of delight on his face. “That is what we are doing. Hunting dragons. Because we are dragon hunters!”

Dagur took a step back, looking at him with disgust. Something about the way he was acting didn’t sit well with the Berserker, but Dagur knew he had to deal with it for his ‘brother’s’ sake. Shaking his head again, he turned and continued walking.

After a few minutes, he glanced over his shoulder to see Hiccup motioning to the other two males and Thora to keep up. Quietly, he chuckled and looked in front of him once more.

“You know, Hiccup,” he spoke, “you and I are a lot alike.”

He didn’t see as Hiccup cocked his brow. “Really? Ha-ha-how’s that?” he stammered, not enjoying Dagur’s words. He _knew_ they couldn’t be more different.

“Well, we’re both born leaders.”

“True,” Thora agreed. Hearing nothing around them, she busied herself with undoing her braids. She wanted to keep her ears warm, and her loose hair would do that better than her scarf.

“Sons of chiefs,” Dagur added, a crazed grin on his face, “who had to be _eliminated_ so we could gain control!”

“Yes—wait, what? No!” Hiccup turned and looked at Dagur in horror. “My dad hasn’t been eliminated from _anything_!”

A wild look had overcome the Berserker. “But he could!” he offered. “Just say the word and—” Spinning around, he pointed his crossbow at Fishlegs’ hand and fired. Fishlegs let out a yelp as the bolt caught the handle of his lantern, pulling it out of his hand and pinning it to a tree.

Thora frowned, reaching over and forcibly lowering the crossbow in Dagur’s hands. “That offer is _not_ needed, Dagur,” she told him. “An’ I’ll ask ya _not_ t’ make any more like it.”

He stared at her, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. Opening his mouth to speak, he was cut off before the first word could even leave his mouth.

Something was rustling in the bushes. Something _big_.

He spun around and readied his crossbow again, taking aim at the bush. He wanted to be prepared in case it was a dragon, though by this point, he thought it would just be another human. “Which one of your little friends is it going to be this time?” he questioned, the disappointment all-too obvious in his voice.

“Ah, hard to say,” Hiccup murmured, holding his shield before him.

A ball of purple fire came flying out of the bush. Dagur felt himself yanked backwards as Thora pulled him out of harm’s way. Looking up, he saw the top half of the bush in flames but, more important, he saw the ultimate hunting trophy:

The Night Fury.

“Hiccup, my old friend!” he cackled, wriggling free of Thora’s grip. “You’ve done it! You’ve led me right to him!”

Toothless snarled at him as he aimed his crossbow.

“Ah, D-Dagur, wait!” cried Hiccup, pulling on the crossbow. “I would like to do it!”

Dagur glared at him. “I saw him _first!”_ he argued, his tone rather childlike.

Hiccup snatched the crossbow from him. “Yes, but _I_ led you to him!”

He grabbed it back. “But I brought the crossbow! All _you_ brought was that useless, ornate shield! Now, stand aside!” Taking aim once more, he started to close the gap between him and his prey.

“On your left!” Thora suddenly cried.

Dagur turned in time to have a small flock of Terrible Terrors fly out of the bushes at him. On accident, he fired his crossbow, unknowingly missing Toothless by just a few inches. He batted the small dragons away only to find the Night Fury gone.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Astrid came storming out of the undergrowth, looking extremely angry. “I almost had those Terrible Terrors!”

“Terrors, shmerrors! We’re hunting a _Night Fury_ here!” he argued. He turned back to Hiccup. “Did you leave _anyone_ back on Berk!?” Growling, he stomped over to the bush where Toothless had been just moments earlier and started trying to pull a crossbow bolt out of the tree.

“Heh, very funny, Dagur,” Hiccup spoke, his voice betraying his lack of enthusiasm.

“Did he say, ‘Hunting a _Night Fury_ ’?” Astrid whispered to Hiccup.

“Yep,” Hiccup replied. “That’s _exactly_ what he said.”

Astrid stared at him in horror. “But Toothless is-”

“-Loose,” he finished for her. “And if he’s loose, then so are the other dragons.”

Thora bit her tongue. “Er…Death Dance wasn’t exactly _loose_ …more like, _preoccupied_.”

Hiccup and Astrid frowned as they looked at her. “I never did get to ask you why you were on the ground,” the former commented. “What happened?”

“Tuff an’ me were passin’ by the corpse o’ the Green Death.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Death Dance got excited, seein’ all the fresh bones.”

Astrid stuck her tongue out in disgust. “She’s rooting around in an old carcass for bones!?” she hissed. “Thora, that’s disgusting!”

“I tried t’ stop her, but so many o’ her bones were ready t’ crumble!”

Rubbing his forehead, Hiccup silenced them with his free hand. “Astrid, you and the others need to find Ruff and Tuff and get your dragons to safety. Me and Thora will continue on with Dagur and try to think of a way to stop him. Don’t worry. Dagur won’t hurt us. I’m his brother.”

“An’ he’s in love with me for _some_ reason,” Thora sighed. She jumped as Dagur suddenly came up behind them and threw an arm around her waist and Hiccup’s shoulders.

“Come, friends!” he declared. “The trail is still fresh!” He forced them to turn around, beginning to drag them in the direction of Toothless.

“Er…ah, I can’t hunt with an entourage,” Hiccup called out, trying to think of some way to keep Dagur from finding out his true instructions. “Go back to Berk! Leave us to our business!”

 

After some time of following Toothless, Dagur was beginning to grow confused and suspicious. He had fired half a dozen bolts, and yet the Night Fury refused to fly away. It continued to evade them on the ground, leading them over boulders and down hills.

“I don’t get it!” he cried after firing his seventh bolt. “Why doesn’t it just fly away?!”

“Ah…Maybe it _wants_ us to follow it?” Hiccup suggested.

He cocked a brow, looking at Hiccup in confusion. “Like a trap?”

“Aye, exactly,” Thora grunted, holding her side. “Maybe we should go back. Dragon traps are dangerous, y’know. Especially at night when ya can barely see ‘em.”

Dagur chuckled. “Oh, dear…Don’t you know a trapper’s traps can trap the trapper?”

Hiccup stared at him, dumbfounded. “What…what does that even mean?”

“I don’t know!” He let out a cackle before sliding down the side of a rock.

“Is it bad that I perfectly understood what he said?” Thora grumbled. “He meant-”

Hiccup gave her an irritated look before following after the redhead.

“Right. Ya neither care nor want t’ know.” Still holding her side, she hurried after the other two.

Dagur continued to firing bolts at Toothless, though none of them hit home. The trio followed after the dragon until they came to the top of a cliff overlooking the sea. Dagur let out a cackle as he fired yet another bolt.

“You’re not goin’ t’ hit anythin’ if ya keep firin’ like that!” Thora panted, doubled over in pain now.

“I know,” he smirked. “I’m just trying to keep him running in that direction.” Pulling some flint from a bag on his belt, he struck it against the hard, metal tip of the crossbow bolt. A few sparks danced off the stone, almost instantly igniting the bolt. He fired it into the night sky, watching as it came to its apex before falling into the ocean.

Hiccup raised a brow, curious about the seemingly useless gesture. “What…what was that for?” he questioned, also bent over as he tried to regain his breath.

“To be honest, Hiccup, I didn’t exactly come here alone, either.” His grin widened as about a dozen fire-light arrows shot into the sky.

“Dagur.” Hiccup stood upright, despite the pain in his side. “Night Furies are _extremely_ lethal. A few more men won’t make a difference!” He looked the Berserker chieftain in the eye, a frown on his face.

Dagur snorted and set the crossbow on his shoulder. “Really? You think so?” he mocked. Turning around, he looked up as the stars were suddenly blocked out by a cloud of fire-lit arrows. “Lucky for us, I brought the armada along and, like, a bazillion armed Berserkers!”

Thora and Hiccup looked at one another, worry and anger on their faces.

“Oh yeah,” Dagur continued, oblivious. “We’re going to drive that beast right to them and _they_ can finish him off!”

“Not exactly sportin’,” Thora retorted, the stitch leaving her side.

He turned around, a frenzied appearance on his face. “I don’t care about sporting!” he cackled. “I care about killing that Night Fury, wearing its skull as a helmet, and using its skin as your wedding dress!” He darted off again.

“Oh, that’s what _you_ think,” Thora growled, clenching her fists and running after him. Hiccup was on her heels, his own hands balled into fists as they chased after Dagur.

It didn’t take long to find him. He had only gone a couple hundred yards before finding Toothless trapped atop a boulder between him, a two-hundred foot drop, and a sheer, vertical cliff.

“That’s it!” Hiccup called. “I am _not_ going to let you kill that dragon!”

Rolling his eyes as he aimed his crossbow, Dagur let out an annoyed growl. “This again? Fine, you saw it first. You can take home a wing or something.”

“No, he’s pretty much goin’ t’ take the whole thing,” Thora replied.

Hiccup let out his dragon call. At the same time, Thora let out hers.

Dagur spun around in shock, seeing the two wearing matching smirks as Toothless soared down from his perch. Hiccup dashed over to the dragon and it was then Dagur noticed the saddle strapped to his back. His eyes widened, watching in disbelief as Hiccup mounted the Night Fury he had been trying so hard to kill.

“So I was…” he murmured, shock rendering him useless for a moment.

“Right all along,” Hiccup finished, sitting proud atop Toothless. “We do **not** hunt dragons on Berk. We ride them.”

The shock began to fade away, an intense anger and sense of betrayal filling the void. “Your father…he lied to— _YOU_ lied to me! Both of you!” he shouted.

“He was tryin’ t’ keep the peace between our tribes,” Thora told him, her voice surprisingly calm. “We _all_ were.”

“By making a fool out of _me_?!” he snarled at her.

“You _don’t_ exactly need a lot of help with that, Dagur,” Hiccup snapped.

Dagur moved to reload his crossbow, but Toothless snapped at him, startling him.

“Your move,” Hiccup smirked.

He looked between them, his jaw clenched shut. “You could’ve been my brother, Hiccup!” he called out. “Now you’re my _enemy_!”

Hiccup quietly laughed, petting Toothless. “Have it your way, but remember: We have the dragons and we are _not_ afraid to use them. Come on, Thora. Let’s get out of here.”

Growling quietly, he turned towards Thora as she started to walk towards her cousin. The hurt and anger he felt showed in his expression and she abruptly paused in her steps, unable to help but feel a bit concerned for his wellbeing. He rushed over to her, grabbing her arm.

“You could still be my queen!” he told her, a hint of pleading to his tone. “My people could use a queen like you! Someone _kind_ and _intelligent_ and _gorgeous_ –not to mention, I would spoil you! I could shower you with gold and gifts-”

She pulled her arm away from him. “If your gifts include the skulls an’ skins o’ dragons, I don’t think I’m the creature for ya,” she told him, turning her back on him. She started to walk towards the boulder Toothless had been perched atop. “Death’s comin’, Hiccup –go ahead an’ I’ll join ya in a bit.”

Hiccup nodded. “Let’s go, bud,” he told Toothless.

Making a noise of understanding, Toothless spread his wings and took off as Thora started climbing up the boulder. She wanted to make sure Death Dance could easily find her. Her  brows furrowed and she glanced over her shoulder as she heard a crashing sound; a curse flew from her mouth. From seemingly nowhere, Dagur had pulled out three sets of bolas and threw them at the dragon.

‘Where in Odin’s name is he storing all these weapons?!’ she thought angrily. Jumping down from her spot, she kept herself partially hidden by the shadows of the underbrush. She watched as Dagur rushed towards Toothless, a battle cry leaving his mouth and his sword raised, ready to cut through the dragon’s neck.

Luckily, Hiccup jumped in the way, blocking the blow with his shield. She winced at the loud, sharp metallic clang rang out through the night. Dagur kicked Hiccup, sending the smaller, lighter teen flying backwards some yards and giving him enough time to readjust himself for a killing blow. This second time, however, he was stopped by Hiccup’s shield, which he had thrown.

Darting out from her spot, Thora snatched up Hiccup’s shield and threw it back to him. She rushed back to her spot, biting her tongue as Dagur started throwing daggers at the two of them. A growl left her mouth as one of them passed dangerously close to her face –it left no mark on her skin, but she watched as a chunk of her hair fell to the ground.

As Dagur stalked towards Hiccup, who was hiding behind his shield, he failed to notice that Toothless’ tail was left unbound. The dragon, however, knew perfectly well that he had the advantage and lashed out with his tail, sending Dagur flying through the air. Though he was able to momentarily immobilize the Berserker, he had unknowingly made him land beside his crossbow.

Thora came out of her spot again, rushing to Hiccup’s side. “Are ya hurt?” she quickly asked, doing her best to look him over for any injuries.

“Just a few cuts and bruises,” Hiccup assured her. “Nothing major—DOWN!” Grabbing the top of his cousin’s head, he did his best to get her behind his shield as well –and just in time. A crossbow bolt zoomed past the spot where her neck had been seconds earlier.

“Get you an’ the shield behind the tree!” Thora ordered. She did her best to listen for the wings; they were much closer at this point.

Hiccup glanced between the shield and the tree –the latter was only a few feet away, but he didn’t want to leave his cousin defenseless. “What about you?” He yelped as one of the bolts grazed his back.

Thora’s answer came in the form of her suddenly standing up. She literally plucked her cousin off the ground and dashed behind the tree, dumping him on the ground before leaving the relative safety and running towards Toothless. She ignored the few bolts that tore through her cloak and skirt –they did no damage to her body- and reached into her satchel, pulling out her dagger.

She glanced over at Dagur as he started to walk towards her, the crossbow aimed at her head as she started sawing at the ropes binding Toothless. Gritting her teeth, she tried to hurry up, but was able to only cut through two ropes before Dagur pressed the end of the crossbow against her temple.

“Your move, Hiccup!” Dagur cackled, snatching the knife from her hands and holding it against her throat.

“I thought you wanted me t’ be your queen?” Thora questioned, her body stiff as she heard the crossbow string creak from behind held taunt. “Not dead.” Swallowing hard, she could feel the blade of her knife just barely held against her skin. He didn’t intend to kill her –that much she knew- but what he _did_ have planned, she couldn’t guess.

Chuckling, Dagur affectionately pulled her against him, though kept the crossbow against her temple. “Oh, trust me: You _will_ be my queen, my lovely half-troll –that I swear to you. I just want to make sure my _brother_ understands just how bad it is to betray the Berserker chieftain!” He cackled wildly again, shooting a bolt at Hiccup as he poked his head out from behind a tree.

“Ya know, Death isn’t goin’ t’ be very happy with ya,” she told him.

His brow rose. “I told you, I don’t plan on killing you.”

“Oh, I know, but that doesn’t matter t’ Death. She’s not fond o’ violence.”

Dagur snickered, oblivious to the shadow above them. “‘Not fond of violence’? Then why does she rule over the dead, hmm?” He looked down at her and used his thumb to lightly caress her cheek. “Violence is one of Hel’s favorite things!”

Thora suddenly smirked, confusing him. “What makes ya think I’m talkin’ ‘bout Hel?” she questioned. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout _my_ dragon.”

He frowned, confused. “ _Y-your_ dragon?”

Her grin widened as Death Dance suddenly landed between them and Hiccup; she quickly plugged her ears. Death Dance spread her newly re-armored wings and bent over, roaring at Dagur. He fell back, startled by both the sudden appearance of the dragon and the sheer amount of volume she produced.

Grabbing hold of the horn on the end of Death Dance’s skull, Thora pulled herself up onto her head and climbed up between her horns. As her dragon spun around, she yelped and clung onto one of the horns. Glancing over her shoulder, she was able to watch as the Boneknapper struck Dagur with her tail, sending him flying back into the forest.

“Good girl,” she grinned, leaning over and petting Death Dance.

Hiccup darted out of his spot, hurrying over to Toothless’ side. “Are you alright?” he called up to Thora.

“Fine. You?”

“Got a few more cuts, but otherwise? I’m good.” He pulled a tiny knife from his boot and started to saw away at the remaining ropes binding Toothless.

Making her way down the vertebrae on Death Dance’s neck, Thora let out a heavy, tired sigh when she flopped down into her saddle. She gave her dragon another pat. “Next time, Death, please _don’t_ get distracted by the giant carcass o’ an enemy dragon, eh? This whole mess could have been avoided if we had been flyin’ around.”

Death Dance twisted her head around, giving her an apologetic look. She made a sound of guilt before hanging her head in shame.

“Aw…I know, ya needed new armor. But we could have come back durin’ the day t’ get it. I’m sure that would have made things easier for ya, too.” She gave her a reassuring smile before peering over the side of her neck at Hiccup. “Is Toothless hurt?”

“Thank the gods, no,” he sighed, mounting his now-free dragon. “We need to get out of here before Dagur reaches his armada. I’m afraid he’ll be paying a visit to Berk sometime in the near future…” With his head, he motioned for Thora to follow him into the air.

Getting into the air, the two riders soon saw the silhouettes of other dragons flying towards them. Hiccup let out a heavy sigh.

“How do we tell them we just started a war?” he asked his cousin. She glanced over at him, able to see the worry and fear on his face. He turned, looking her in the eye. “How do we tell my dad?”

“You’ll find a way t’ tell the others,” she gently told him. “I’ll handle Uncle Stoick.”


	12. Chapter 12

Stoick rubbed his temple with one hand, the other clenched into a fist as it rested on his thigh. His eyes were closed and his jaw was tight as he did his best to keep from erupting into a raging tirade at the teen in front of him. As he slowly breathed in through his nose, he could hear the gentle tinkling of Thora’s metal trinkets as she shifted in her seat. He knew she must have been biting her tongue as she waited through the tense silence, because she soon let out a quiet, pained curse followed by a whispered ‘yuck’.

Finally, he let his hand fall onto the arm of his chair and opened his eyes. Right away, he noticed the two spots of blood on the neck of Thora’s tunic –she had, indeed, bitten her tongue too hard. Ignoring them for now, he sat up a bit straighter, his eyes locking onto hers.

“You said the only wounds the two o’ you got were minor?” he questioned.

She nodded, doing her best to match his gaze, but every once in a while, her eyes flitted away nervously. “Aye. I treated ‘em before coming here, though I sent Hiccup t’ Gothi t’ get a leg wound stitched.”

His brow rose ever so slightly. “And was it Dagur who gave him that wound?”

“Hard t’ tell, t’ be honest,” she admitted. “It was a clean enough cut, so it could have been Dagur, but there was so much jumpin’ an’ rollin’ around taking place, he could have easily gotten it from a rock or a shrub, too.”

Stoick nodded in understanding, scratching his beard. “And the others…?”

“Unhurt. They weren’t there for the confrontation.” She brought her tail around and began fiddling with the tuft of fur at its end. “I’m fairly certain Dagur wouldn’t be alive if they had been, though.”

“That may have been for the best,” he admitted. “If you lot were able to make a quick escape and gone unnoticed-”

“-The Berserkers would have thought him killed by a dragon,” she finished for him. “Aye, I thought o’ that too. But I don’t think they would have believed it. For all his deranged-edness, Dagur’s an excellent warrior and has damned good survival skills.” She shrugged lightly, remembering the state that she and Hiccup had seen Dagur in. “He had already been on the island for some weeks when he found us an’ the only wound he gotten in that time was easily treated.”

His brow visibly rose this time. “You treated his wound?” he questioned, his tone dry.

Her cheeks darkened and she looked away, wincing as she bit her tongue. “Er…I tried t’ tell him it was worse than it was,” she explained, “but he was havin’ none o’ it. So…aye, I treated it.”

Stoick rubbed his forehead; she knew he was annoyed.

“Either way,” she continued, “what happened, happened. We can’t change that. But we can work on not makin’ the same mistake twice.”

The annoyance remained on his face as he stared at her. “Oh? And _what_ mistake would that be?” he demanded, leaning forward almost menacingly in his seat. She knew this to be one of his intimidation tactics; she had seen him use it before with the leaders of other tribes as well as her father. Not to mention, he had done it plenty of times in her youth when she or Hiccup had gotten in trouble.

She fought the urge to shrink back, knowing this was as good a time as any to work on both her self-confidence and her authoritativeness. “Not tellin’ the Berserkers ‘bout us trainin’ dragons.”

“Is that so?” he retorted, crossing his arms. “What makes ya think it was a mistake?”

“If we had told Dagur about them in the first place, we would have been in a better position t’ explain the _non-violent_ benefits o’ becomin’ friends with the dragons,” she answered. She swallowed hard, unconsciously gripping her tail as she forced herself to remain sitting upright as well as making her eyes stay fixed on her uncle’s face. Her insides, however, felt as if they were a swarm of bees buzzing around. “Aye, he may not have been very receptive t’ the idea right o’ way, but if we had introduced it slowly –throughout his visit here- he _may_ have warmed up t’ it a bit.

“An’ with that in mind, it’s definitely somethin’ we’ll need t’ do come time t’ renew the treaties with the Bog-Burglars, the Bashem Oiks, the Thunderheads, an’ the Meatheads,” she told him. “We need t’ show them that _most_ dragons are peaceful creatures, not the monsters we used t’ think they were.”

Stoick let out a heavy sigh, slouching back in his chair as he rubbed his temple once more. “I see Hiccup’s been rubbing off on ya,” he told her, his tone surprisingly gentle. “It was so easy for you teens t’ befriend the dragons. Most o’ you hadn’t seen them kill your friends or your loved ones…”

Thora glanced away, knowing that her uncle was thinking back to his late wife. “I know it’s not an easy thing, tryin’ to be allies with them,” she quietly told him. “I know plenty o’ Hooligans who still have trouble accepting it –or even downright hate it. But you’ve seen the good they bring! With their help, Silent Sven was able to get his fields ready for springtime in just two days an’ Bucket and Mulch were able t’ fill the storehouse with the largest cache of smoked meats in –probably- Berk’s entire history!”

Holding up his hand, Stoick silenced her. “I’m not saying I haven’t seen the positives,” he told her, “but what I _am_ sayin’ is that the other tribes won’t see it the same way. They’ll see it as a sign o’ aggression, thinkin’ we mean t’ utilize the dragons for war.” Pushing himself out of his seat, he turned his back to her and headed over to the far wall, where he kept many bottles of various shapes and sizes.

“Well, then…we show them it’s not?” Thora sounded unsure of her own words. “I mean, if they see us playing with them or using them for labor…”

Stoick shook his head as he unstoppered one of the taller bottles. “Think o’ this way, Thora: Before we became friends with the dragons an’ they were attackin’ us every other week for food, how did ya feel if you came across one in the forest? Even if it was asleep or doing somethin’ completely harmless?”

She frowned somewhat. “I felt…scared,” she admitted, leaning over in an attempt to see what he was doing. “I didn’t know they could be friendly back then.”

“And how did you feel when Hiccup told you he had befriended one?” He glanced over his shoulder at her, brow raised. “I know he had t’ have told you before anyone else found out.”

Her cheeks darkened and her gaze fell to the floor, a guilty look on her face. “I thought he was a bit insane,” she mumbled, half-lying. She glanced up as her uncle came back over, offering her a wooden cup. Taking it, she smelled its contents. Wine.

“Now imagine bein’ a chieftess and hearing that one o’ the nearby tribes was starting to train dragons, who happen t’ be one of your biggest enemies. How would that make you feel?”

“Angry…betrayed…” She took a sip of the wine.

He nodded slowly. “Do you see where I’m coming from now?” he gently asked her. When she nodded in return, he took a drink from his own cup. “You need to keep in mind that not everyone is going to share the same point of view as you. As a future Völva, you need t’ do your best to see things from _everyone’s_ perspective –not just yours and Hiccup’s. Do you understand?”

“Aye,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the deep purple liquid in the cup. Her cheeks still burned, but she knew he was right –after all, Stoick _was_ chief of Berk.

 

* * *

 

 

Thanks to the Screaming Death’s excavation of Berk, the island was left riddled with tunnels. Most of these tunnels had been filled in with help from Fishlegs and his friendship with a herd of wild Gronckles. A few of them had been left open, however, upon the discovery that they had become new wells or created shortcuts to the far reaches of the island.

One tunnel in particular, though, had an even more special reason for being left empty: It led into the side of the same mountain the Great Hall had been carved from and into a small cave system filled with hot springs. Stoick ordered Gobber and the other craftsmen to find a way to bring light to the area, as the caves had very little natural light, but it had actually been Snotlout who came up with a solution to the problem, however: Braziers filled with Monstrous Nightmare saliva which can burn for long periods of time without running dry.  

With it being Woden’s Day and not Saturn’s Day –the usual bathing day for Vikings- the pools were empty. This was fine enough with Thora, who preferred to bathe by herself anyway. A quiet sigh left her mouth as she sank down into the water, her eyes closing in bliss. Warm baths were a luxury for her these days, since her time with Gothi took up so much of her day and her free time was usually spent studying.

‘I could live in here,’ she thought, resting her head against a stone. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a bath this warm, let alone one so effortless. I guess that Screaming Death was good for something…’

Almost lazily, she plugged her nose and slid under the hot water, a shiver running down her spine as her face was submerged. She remained under the water for as long as her lungs would allow before surfacing once more, a small gasp leaving her mouth. Grinning, she reached over her head and grabbed her washcloth.

Outside, Death Dance was making some noise.

Thora cocked her brow and tilted her head, listening to her dragon as she scrubbed her arm. Happy, guttural noises made by other dragons echoed down the cave. She smiled; Death Dance was just chatting with some friends. A quiet hiss left her mouth and she looked down at her arm; fresh blood began rolling down her arm from a cut she didn’t know she had.

“Well that’s lovely,” she muttered, pressing the washcloth against her skin. After a few minutes, she pulled it back and watched the cut, waiting to see if it would bleed more. When it didn’t, she let out a sigh and rinsed the cloth.

And then she let out a curse as a blur of peach and blonde splashed into the water. The waves it made crashed over the startled Thora, who had thrown her arms in front of her face in an attempt to shield herself from harm.

“Aha! You should see your face!” cackled Ruffnut. “You were all, ‘Ahh! Don’t eat me!’”

Lowering her arms slightly, Thora saw the other teen standing some feet away, buck naked and her hair unbraided. Rolling her eyes, she threw her washcloth at her, managing to hit her in the face.

“You are a massive jerk, ya know that, aye?” she chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“Nah.” She waded over, sitting down next to her friend. “That’d be Snotlout. I, on the other hand, am purely delightful!”

Thora snorted, giving her a light nudge with her tail. “Oh, don’t _even_ ,” she laughed. “You’re about as delightful as pungent onion.”

“Ooh, delightful _and_ delicious! I’ll take that!”

Laughing even harder now, Thora shoved some of her hair out of her face. “How did ya even know I was in here?”

Ruffnut shrugged as she stood, having to reach around the rock to grab her own washcloth. “Ran across your uncle and asked him if he’d seen you. Ack!” She fell back into the water as Thora, using her tail, tugged on her hair. “Now who’s the jerk?”

“Payback’s a wench, isn’t it?” Thora teased, grinning innocently.

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled, shoving her own hair out of her face as she returned to her spot. “Anyway. Stoick said you went to take a bath here, so here I am. Tuffnut would be here, too, but mom roped him into helping Uncle Bucket and Mulch seal hunt today.”

She nodded in understanding as she scrubbed at a stubborn bit of dirt. It soon became apparent to her, though, that it wasn’t dirt, but rather a light bruise. “I hope they catch a couple. Seal’s always a nice change o’ pace t’ all the fish an’ cured meats during the winter.”

“Yeah. Not to mention, I could really use some new seal-skin boots.”

“Hate t’ say it, but Áslaug an’ Fáfnir already laid claim t’ the next batch of new seal skins.”

Ruffnut frowned and paused in her scrubbing. “How do you know that?”

“Áslaug told me the other day when she was measurin’ me for a new under-gown.”

“Ahh…Damn. I wanted those boots…” She slumped back against the rock, pouting. “Wait…I can see why Áslaug would want the skins, since she’s a seamstress ‘n all, but Fáfnir? He’s just an old twit. What does he need them for!?”

Thora cocked her brow, grinning slightly at Ruffnut’s offended state. “He does have a grandchild on the way, y’know,” she gently reminded her, “so he probably wants t’ make a waterproof sling or somethin’ for the babe.”

“I guess that makes sense.” She started to wash herself once more, but still wore her frown. “So, new subject: What was it like spending almost the whole night having to make sure Dagur didn’t kill Hiccup?” She blinked, looking over at Thora as she let out a loud groan and sank down into the water. “That bad, huh?”

She peeked up at Ruffnut, only the top half of her head left above the water as she nodded.

“At least you got a fight out of it! That had to be fun, huh?”

Standing up, Thora reached over the rock. “Oh, yeah, real fun! I got held at knifepoint as Dagur swore t’ make me his queen –just after he finished killin’ my cousin, that is. Oh, an’ that jerk has me convinced he’s either got an enchanted asshole or an invisible bag.” She grabbed a clay jar from amidst the pile of her clothes before plopping back down.

Ruffnut snorted. “An enchanted asshole?” she cackled. “Why’s that?”

“Because he kept pullin’ weapons out o’ his ass!” She glanced over at Ruffnut, having to use her tail to keep the blonde from falling into the water, she was laughing so hard. “I’m serious, Ruff!” She couldn’t help but giggle as well; it was a ludicrous idea.

Ruffnut, still laughing, was forced to wipe away a tear of mirth. “Are you—are you _sure_ he just didn’t have a hip quiver or somethin’?” she questioned. “I mean, with how tall you are compared to him, maybe you just missed it?”

“Hard to miss somethin’ like that when he constantly pulled me against him throughout the night.”

A wicked grin came to Ruffnut’s lips. “That doesn’t mean you _saw_ it. If he pulled you against him, you could have _felt_ it. Then again, if you _did_ feel something, it could have just been him happy to see you. It’s easy to get the two confused sometimes.”

Rolling her eyes, she lightly splashed Ruffnut. “Very funny, ya pervert.”

“What? I’m just saying.” She shrugged, still wearing the grin as she watched Thora start to work the contents of the jar into her hair. “Hey, you got more of that stuff?”

“I should. I usually bring two jars just in case. Check my clothes.”

Pushing her hair out of the way, Ruffnut climbed atop the rock and rummaged through Thora’s things. “So did Tuffnut lose the dragons before or after you left him at the cave last night?”

“After. Except Death Dance…Silly thing wanted new armor.” From the corner of her eye, she watched as Ruffnut slid down the side of the rock and back into the water, holding the other jar. “Speaking of Tuff, though…Did he seem at all… _off_ t’ ya last night?”

Ruffnut cocked a brow as she started to slather her hair in the semi-oily substance. “Uh…no?” she replied. “Why? Was he weirder than normal with you?”

“…A little.”

Concern came to Ruffnut’s features. “In what way?”

“Er…he was really worried ‘bout me.”

“Worried about you?” she repeated.

Thora nodded, feeling her cheeks grow hot. “He got really worried about me running into wild dragons without Death.”

“It’s a valid concern,” Ruffnut replied, twisting her hair into a long rope. Coiling it around her hand, she shaped it into a bun and let it sit atop her head as she relaxed against the stone. “You haven’t had the same training as us, so you don’t know what sort of reactions wild dragons have to us. Not only that, but you’re still fairly new to riding a dragon, so even if you had Death with you, it’s hard to say how you would have reacted.”

Thora frowned slightly; Ruffnut was making as much sense as Tuffnut had, but it still annoyed her. “Just because I’m not a dragon rider doesn’t mean I’m helpless,” she grumbled. “We were raised t’ fight them, an’ even though we don’t do that anymore doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten _how_.”

“No one’s saying you’re _helpless_ ,” Ruffnut replied, frowning as well. “It’s just…we don’t want you hurt. Yeah, you can fight and stuff, but dude, what we’re learning about dragons is actually proving some of the stuff in the Book of Dragons wrong.”

Her brows furrowed. “…‘Wrong’?”

Ruffnut nodded. “Yeah. Turns out, Bork wasn’t entirely right about some dragons. That, or he just didn’t know about some stuff.” She quietly snickered. “Like, did you know Monstrous Nightmares can read your mind?”

Thora cocked her brow. “… _What_?” She couldn’t tell if Ruffnut was joking or not thanks to her giggles.

“I know!” she laughed, eyes wide. “Who would have thought _those_ hotheaded dummies would be capable of such a thing?! But dude, it’s _totally_ true! I was running away from one last night, but it read my mind and kept running to the place _I_ was running to!”

Thora snickered, rolling her eyes –this was sounding more and more like a joke. “Are ya sure it just wasn’t flyin’ ahead o’ ya?” she questioned, humoring Ruffnut and playing along.

“No way, man. I was in a dense, tree-covered area. It wouldn’t have been able to see me if it was flying. I’m telling you: _It read my mind!_ ” She shook her head, her bun sliding off the top of her skull. “I thought I was going to get eaten for a moment there, but I managed to scare it away.”

Her brow rising, Thora began to wonder if Ruffnut was telling the truth; her jokes never lasted this long. “So, ya really think it was readin’ your mind, then?”

“Yeah. How else would it have known where to go?” She began to rinse her hair. “But yeah. So, there’s one thing Bork didn’t know. He also didn’t know about Typhoomerangs, so there’s that.”

“Well, Typhoomerangs are relatively new t’ Berk. It seems they only stop here for a short time t’ lay their eggs an’ raise their young before goin’ back t’ Eel Island.”

Ruffnut stared at her, a frown on her lips and a dull look in her eyes. “Ugh…you sound like Fishlegs,” she grumbled. She gave Thora a light shove; having caught her off guard, though, she sent the half-troll toppling sideways into the water. She snorted when Thora surfaced, her hair hanging in front of her face like a grey curtain. “That’s a good look for you.”

“O’ course it is; it hides my face,” retorted Thora, her voice sounding somewhat echoic under all her hair. Using her tail, she lifted her hair out of the way and flicked it back over her head.

“Could be worse. You could have the Jorgenson face.”

She stuck her tongue out at her comment. “Ugh, don’t _even_. I’ll take my half-troll, half-Belch face over the Jorgenson face _any_ day. At least, mine doesn’t make children cry.”

Ruffnut snorted before bursting into a cackling fit. “Do you think when Snotlout was born, do you think his mom burst into disappointed tears when she saw his face?”

Thora shrugged, combing her fingers through her hair with a small smirk. “I sure as Hel would cry if I pushed somethin’ like Snotlout out from betwixt my legs.” She then paused, ignoring Ruffnut’s raucous laughter. “Then again, I’d probably be cryin’ anyway…I mean, can ya imagine shovin’ somethin’ like that out o’ ya?” She stuck her tongue out and shuddered. “An’ then there’s the after-”

Ruffnut clamped her hand over Thora’s mouth, a disgusted look on her face despite her remaining bits of laughter. “Don’t go there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time (despite it taking me nearly three weeks to write...ah, life...) before some big things happen next chapter~! I hope you enjoyed it~ 
> 
> I'll try to get chapter 13 out quicker, but I can't make any promises. Mom's got a lot of appointments this month x_x


	13. 13

After four long months of winter, signs of spring were finally beginning to emerge from beneath the snow drifts. Of course, this didn’t mean much, as the Berkians knew all-too well that blizzards could still happen well into spring thanks to their northern location. It also meant an influx of sick Vikings, as they were spending more time outside –even when it was pouring down rain.

“Do ya want your big cauldron for this?” Thora questioned, glancing over her shoulder at Gothi.

The old woman thought for a moment before nodding. She turned back to what she was doing –assembling a lineup of herbs and roots for the medicine they were about to make- only to chuckle as she heard Thora quietly curse. Shortly after, there was a loud bang as the pot hit the floor.

“Nothin’ got dented, I promise!”

Gothi shook her head, laughing softly to herself. Going over to her shelf of jars, she grabbed a large one, opening its lid to double-check the contents. Finding that it was half-empty, she frowned slightly; she’d need to collect more wild garlic once the snows melted for good. As it was, she barely had enough for this batch of medicine.

‘Perhaps Healer’s Island has some already in bloom?’ she thought, carrying the jar over to the table. ‘It’s a place blessed by Freyja, so I have no doubt the snows have left that place and spring has already sprung…’ She glanced over at Thora as the teen removed the kettle from its hook and filled its place with the cauldron. ‘Perhaps I’ll send her to fetch some tomorrow. I could also use a fresh bunch of roses, too…’

“How do we start?” Thora questioned, doing her best to quickly braid her hair so that it was out of the way.

Gothi handed her a bottle of oil, marking a spot on the bottle with her finger to show her how much to use. She watched as the teen did as instructed before nodding when asked about putting the pot over the fire. Taking the bottle of oil back, she set it on the table before taking up her slate and chalk.

‘While the oil heats, you can revive these herbs but not the roots. After that, you will add all whole herbs and roots to the hot oil,’ Thora read a few minutes later. ‘Stand back as you do, as they will pop upon hitting the hot oil. Do not stir them until the popping settles down. Then use the wooden spoon to stir them around, still taking care about the oil.’

She nodded, moving to gather up the herbs. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, she felt magic flowing into her hands. Soon, she was holding a bundle of freshly-revived herbs and wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead.

“What will I want t’ add after that?” she questioned, her tail grabbing hold of the wooden spoon. Going back to the hearth, she peeked into the pot only to see her reflection shimmering in the oil. She heard Gothi scratching away at the slate as she leaned back, dumping the herbs and roots into the oil.

The second the plants hit the hot oil, they burst into a cacophony of pops and snaps, sending small droplets of oil flying into the air.

“Odin’s undies!” Thora yelped, her eyes wide as she leapt away from the cauldron. Behind her, Gothi was laughing hard enough to throw her into a coughing fit. Biting her tongue, Thora glanced at the still-angry cauldron before moving to get Gothi a cup of water.

Taking the cup as it was offered to her, Gothi nodded her thanks before drinking from it. The water was chilly, but it helped to soothe her somewhat dry throat and kept her coughing at bay. She watched as Thora plucked up the slate, her lips moving as she read the instructions to herself.

“Add in the preserved garlic an’ ginger, cook for a few more minutes, an’ then add the chicken bones before cookin’ for even longer. Then add enough water an’ wine t’ cover the bones.” She glanced up at the old woman, a brow raised in confusion. “Is this medicine actually a soup? Because it’s soundin’ a lot like one o’ the soups da’ makes during the winter.”

Shaking her head, Gothi chuckled and set aside the cup in favor of stealing the slate from Thora once more. ‘Not a soup, no. But in the beginning, it looks like one,’ she wrote. ‘But it will cook down and thicken into a paste by the time we are done with it.’

“Weird…” Returning to the cauldron, she cautiously began to stir the ingredients, flinching only slightly as some oil flew onto her skin. Inside, the herbs and roots were turning dull, though their edges were starting to burn. She pulled the cauldron a little ways away from the center of the fire to cool the pot a bit. “I honestly don’t see how this’ll turn into a paste, but I’ve had doubts before an’ you’ve proved me wrong.”

Gothi wiggled her finger in a mock scolding fashion, a wry smile on her lips.

“I know, I know,” Thora chuckled. “I shouldn’t doubt ya –you are my teacher, after all. But honestly, most people wouldn’t expect bones, herbs, an’ roots t’ end up as a paste.”

Erasing the board, Gothi wrote her reply. ‘Because most people are not Völva, nor are most people healers. Trust me, child, when I say that it will become a paste. It is not something that will happen within a single day.’

Realization hit Thora like a brick and she smacked her forehead. “Oh. We’re goin’ t’ boil this mixture for a few days until the bones are soft enough for us t’ grind up…” she mumbled, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “Duh, Thora.”

Gothi rolled her eyes, though wore a pitying smile on her face. ‘You are an endless supply of amusement today,’ she wrote.

Thora crossed the room, grabbing the large bucket of chicken bones Gothi had stored near her cooking herbs. “Whatever keeps ya from thwackin’ me on the head with your staff is alright in my book,” she snickered. Her eyes widened and she quickly ducked as the old woman playfully attempted to smack her. “Ha! Missed,” she grinned, straightening up. A curse left her mouth as her head smacked against one of the rafters. “Ow…”

Wincing, Gothi lightly shook her head. A quiet sigh left her mouth as Thora dumped the bones into the cauldron and gave them a stir before moving to sit down. ‘You have grown quite a bit these last few weeks,’ she wrote. ‘You are almost too tall for my home.’

Rubbing the sore spot on her skull, Thora nodded in agreement. “I don’t know why I’m doin’ this. I thought I was done growin’ last year.”

‘No doubt, it has to do with your troll blood.’

A sigh left Thora’s mouth as she reached for one of the jars of dried herbs. “Probably,” she murmured, opening the jar. She plucked a couple of stems from it before popping them in her mouth and chewing on them. “I hope I stop soon. If I keep growin’, I’ll have t’ sleep with Death Dance in her roost.”

‘It would not be for too long, at least. After all, you will be leaving in a few weeks for the mainland.’

Thora frowned, not looking at the old woman as she remained silent.

Gothi frowned as well; it was not like Thora to be quiet. Clearing her slate, she wrote anew. ‘You are troubled by your imminent departure, are you not?’

She nodded, but remained quiet.

‘What worries you about it?’

Thora glanced at her from the corner of her eye, biting her tongue. She felt nearly on the verge of tears, but was able to hold them back as she spoke. “I’ve never been away from home for longer than a few nights,” she quietly admitted, “an’ I’m worried ‘bout how da’ is going t’ take it. How Hiccup an’ Uncle Stoick are goin’ t’ take it. They, at least, can distract themselves fairly well –they’re both so busy all o’ the time these days anyway. But da’ has so much free time now…I’m worried he’ll just turn into a weepy mess.”

Gothi nodded in understanding, listening as she spoke. ‘Your father is quite an emotional man, that is for certain. I have no doubts he will be a ‘weepy’ mess for a little while –but it will be for just that: A little while. He will eventually get over his sorrow and go on with his life. Gobber will still miss you, be sure of that, but he will be able to handle it better as time wears on.’

“An’ what about you?” Thora questioned, her voice quiet. “Are you goin’ t’ be alright? I know there’re some things ya can’t do without help an’ a lot o’ the folk here aren’t willin’ t’ make the trek all the way up here just t’ help ya pull down a cauldron or go out in the forest for herbs for ya.” Her frown deepened and she looked at Gothi with worry in her eyes. “And what about when _you_ get sick? Who’s goin’ t’ take care o’ you?”

A fond smile came to Gothi’s lips as she wrote on her board. ‘Child, I have been able to take care of myself before I took you on as my apprentice, and I will continue to be able to take care of myself while you are gone. You need not worry about me.’

“Ya say that, but ya don’t know how hard it is.” She glanced at the cauldron and got up, going to stir its contents. “You’re…You’re the closest thing I have t’ a grandmother…or a mother, for that matter. O’ course I’m goin’ t’ worry about ya.”

Gothi remained wordless as she watched Thora hoist up the kettle and pour its contents into the cauldron. A cloud of steam billowed up from the pot, along with the harsh hissing sound of water meeting hot metal. The teen did her best to wave away the steam before giving the pot a final stir. She pulled it further away from the flames, letting it rest above the outermost coals.

‘You really think of me as a grandmother?’ she finally wrote. No one had ever told her such a thing –she had always just been Gothi, the Völva of Berk who was looked upon with a mixture of fear and respect.

Never had anyone looked at her as if they considered her family.

Thora nodded, doing her best to swallow her emotions. “Aye, I do. Ya know my da’s mum died long before I came along, an’ there’ve been no other woman who were really willin’ t’ get close t’ me.” She shrugged, still unable to look at the old woman. “Guess it doesn’t help that my da’ doesn’t fancy women, so it’d be hard t’ find a motherly figure in the first place…Also doesn’t help that my real mum is a troll –well, _was_ \- a troll, either.”

Sighing, she slouched in her seat, her tail drooping to the ground. “But, aye. You’ve been there for me throughout my whole life. From patchin’ up my skinned knees t’ explainin’ why there was a flood o’ blood comin’ out from betwixt my legs to…well, t’ takin’ me on as your apprentice.” She managed a small smile as she finally looked up at Gothi. “I just hope I haven’t disappointed ya too much.”

‘You have not been any sort of disappointment,’ Gothi wrote, the runes she wrote becoming a bit shaky. ‘You have come quite far in just the few months I have been tutoring you. I cannot wait to see how far you will have progressed when you return from the mainland. I am positive you will make me proud.’

As Thora looked up from reading her words, she saw Gothi wiping a tear from her eye. No longer able to hold back her own tears, she leaned forward and gave the old woman a tight, but gentle, hug.

“I hope so,” she murmured.

 

~*~*~

 

Three days later found Thora tightening a pair of saddlebags around Death Dance’s torso. Gobber had made them as a belated Snoggletog gift for his daughter, since she was now constantly running errands for Gothi. Not only that, but he knew she would need _something_ to carry her belongings with her when she eventually left for the mainland. For now, though, she was going to use them to bring back herbs and roots from Healer’s Island as well as a few other items for Gobber.

Hearing footsteps approaching, she glanced over her shoulder in time to see Hiccup and Toothless walking down the path. She smiled and gave them both a wave before quickly finishing with the straps, making sure they were buckled tightly.

“Going somewhere?” Hiccup questioned, a brow raised as he saw the saddlebags. Death Dance lowered her head, making a soft greeting noise as she nudged him with the tip of her skull. “Hey, girl,” he smiled, patting her horn.

“Aye. Got t’ go t’ Healer’s Island for Gothi an’ then I was goin’ t’ stop by the Island o’ Frigga t’ grab some red ochre for da’,” she replied.

His brow rose and he glanced over at her. “What does he need red ochre for?” Turning back to the saddlebags, he began to closely inspect them. There were four bags in total, two on each side. Each one looked big enough to carry a yak calf with room to spare.

“He wants t’ try usin’ it instead o’ chalk when it comes t’ making measurements on metal an’ leather.” She chuckled as she watched Hiccup open one of the bags and stick his head in. “He says the chalk wipes away far too easily for his liking, so he’s hopin’ the ochre will stay better.”

“Makes sense.” Pulling his head out of the bag, buckled it shut once more, an impressed look on his face. “You think you got enough room with so few bags?” he joked.

She shrugged, brushing some hair from her face. “I don’t know…I think I’ll be able t’ fit everythin’ so long as I don’t go crazy with huntin’ out the wild garlic,” she grinned.

Hiccup snorted. “Do you want some company while you’re out?”

Her brow rose slightly. “Don’t ya have important dragon rider things t’ be doin’?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

“Ahh…tryin’ t’ avoid responsibility, eh?” she teased, giving him a small nudge with her tail. “Best hope Uncle Stoick doesn’t find out.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Very funny,” he retorted. “No, I’m not trying to avoid anything. Just wanting to make sure you’re not lonely…and not possibly running into Berserkers.”

“Oh, trust me –the second I _hear_ a Berserker comin’ my direction, Death an’ I will fly as fast as possible out o’ there!” she laughed. A reassuring grin came to her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s just a quick trip t’ two islands, anyway.”

Circling around to the other side of Death Dance, Hiccup looked around for any sort of weapons or shields. “You’re going unarmed?”

“I’ve got a dagger.”

“That’s not going to be enough,” he frowned. “At least take a shield with you. Those things are pretty useful when someone’s firing an endless supply of crossbow bolts at you.” He paused in his steps, thinking back to the fight with Dagur. “Where did he even store all those?”

It was Thora’s turn to snort. “My theory is that he’s got an enchanted asshole.”

Hiccup’s jaw fell slack for a few seconds before he shuddered in disgust at the thought. Despite that, he burst out laughing. “Enchanted asshole?” he repeated once he could breathe again.

“Well, where else could he store that many arrows?” she defended. “He certainly didn’t have any quivers on his person!”

“I highly doubt he was storing them _inside_ of himself,” he laughed. “I’m sure there’s a _logical_ explanation.”

Thora shook her head, moving to climb up onto Death Dance’s back. “That’s my theory an’ I’m stickin’ t’ it,” she told him. “Would ya like me t’ grab ya anythin’ while I’m out? Maybe some black earth or some shells for your inks?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” he smiled, watching as she situation herself atop her saddle. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

She cocked her brow, having no chance to reply before Hiccup disappeared into her house. When he came back out, he was holding both a shield and a battleax. Rolling her eyes, but still smiling, she leaned over, taking them from him.

“Thank-you,” she told him.

He shrugged, also smiling. “Just want you to be safe. Even if you are a healer, you can defend yourself _without_ killing a person.”

“Says the one who’s constantly gettin’ into trouble these days,” she lightly teased. “See ya later, Hiccup.” As she took to the air, Hiccup waved goodbye; Death Dance let out a small roar in return.

 

Some hours later found Thora and Death Dance on the Island of Frigga. Death Dance idly preened herself while she waited for her rider to emerge from a large, muddy clay pit. Thora was doing her best to carve out a sizeable chunk of red ochre to take home, though it was proving difficult. The ground was still mostly frozen, making the usually-soft, powdery mineral hard as stone.

Finally having struggled long enough with the earth, she whistled for her dragon. Death poked her head over the edge of the pit, curiously looking down at her with her head cocked. Taking a few steps back, Thora gave a silent command for her to blow fire at the ground. She shielded her eyes as Death Dance did just that, the flame lasting for nearly half a minute before she stopped. Waiting for a second command, Death Dance rested her chin on the lip of the pit as Thora inspected the ochre.

“Not quite,” Thora murmured, trying to pry up a bit of the ochre. It had some give to it, but not enough for her to free it just yet. Moving back once more, she gave the signal again. The second burst of fire did the trick; she was able to pull the lump from the ground. Grinning triumphantly, she held up the ochre for Death Dance to see. “Think da’ will be happy with this much?” she questioned.

Stretching her neck, Death Dance sniffed the ochre before lightly snorting. It didn’t seem very special to her, but if her rider was pleased, she was pleased. As Thora grabbed hold of her nasal horn, she lifted her from the pit, setting her on the nearby ground. She then rubbed her horn in the grass, wanting to remove the dirty, red-brown handprints from her bone.

“Sorry, girl,” Thora chuckled, doing her best to clean her hands with a mixture of snow and grass. “Gatherin’ ochre is dirty work. Findin’ Hiccup’s black earth will be even dirtier, though!”

Death Dance seemingly frowned before going back to preening herself.

Quietly laughing to herself, Thora finished cleaning her hands by wiping them on the hem of her dress. She reached into one of her saddlebags and pulled out a length of scrap cloth from her bag. Using this to wrap the ochre in, she was able to make sure the mineral didn’t make a mess when she transported it back to Berk. After it was safely tucked away, she then retrieved a large, empty jar from a different bag; she had intended to fill it with cedar bark from Healer’s Island, but decided not to after offering to get Hiccup some pigments as well.

“Alright, girl,” she spoke, patting the dragon’s flank, “you stay here. I’m goin’ t’ go get the black earth for Hiccup. It’s goin’ t’ be dirtier than gettin’ the ochre, so you’ll probably want t’ stay away.”

Death Dance made a soft noise at her rider before twisting her head round and looking at the ax and shield strapped to her back. She glanced between them and her rider a few times before using her tail to shove Thora towards them.

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I understand. I’ll take the ax an’ shield.” Grabbing both, she slung the shield over one shoulder and rested the ax atop the other. “Better?”

Death Dance nuzzled her affectionately before returning to her preening.

“Silly dragon,” Thora murmured as she started to walk away. ‘She does have a point though,’ she thought, shifting the ax on her shoulder. ‘If I’m away from her, I should have these with me…which means Hiccup was right in making sure I didn’t leave without them. Even if I don’t run into trouble, the ax will at least be handy for scraping off chunks of black earth.’

She cringed at the thought of Gobber finding out about her misusing an ax –especially one _he_ had made- and the scolding she would receive. Making a mental note to clean the blade before heading home, she ducked under some low-hanging branches.

A small curse flew from her mouth as her feet nearly slipped out from beneath her in the mud. She was able to grab hold of a tree trunk with her free hand, keeping herself upright. Unconsciously, she looked around as if she were afraid that anyone had seen her only to realize that she and Death Dance were the only ones on the island. Smacking her forehead at her own stupidity, she continued on her way.

At least, she _thought_ they were alone.

Thora was scraping chunks of jet-black earth from an excavated hillside when Death Dance let out a roar. She was so startled by the sound, she nearly dropped the ax, but as Death let out another roar, she gripped the handle tighter and, forgetting about the pigment, started to run towards her dragon.

Halfway back, her ears started picking up on quickly shouted orders and replies. Her brow rose as she unslung the shield from her back; she couldn’t tell whether it was Outcasts or Berserkers doing the shouting.

‘Alvin and his men have been fairly quiet lately,’ she thought, sliding her arm through the shield strap and grabbing hold of its handle. ‘And they’re also unaware that there’s a tamed Boneknapper on Berk now, so it’s probably Dagur and his men…But why risk an attack on the Island of Frigga? Fighting is punishable by Frigga herself…’

Drawing nearer to the spot where she left Death Dance, she started hiding herself behind tree trunks, darting between them when she was sure the coast was clear. Her dragon was making muffled noises of distress and she was soon able to see the Boneknapper pinned down by dozens of ropes and chains. Clenching her teeth, she was just barely able to keep herself from charging into the fray; there were far too many men for her to take on alone.

She squinted, trying to think of some way to help her dragon without putting herself in an insane amount of harm. ‘But if it’s Dagur and his men, they won’t hurt me,’ she reminded herself. ‘At least, Dagur wouldn’t. Maybe I can negotiate my way out of this?’

Out of nowhere, something grabbed the back of her head and slammed her skull against the tree.

The world went black as Thora slumped to the ground in an unconscious heap.

“Well… _that_ was easier ‘n I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuunnn! Tune in next week to find out Thora's fate! 
> 
> ....Alright, probably not next week, but sometime in the near future. Hope you all enjoyed this cliffhanger~! Please leave a comment if you did <3


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a lot of violence in this chapter.

Thora was awakened by the sound of angered roaring. Opening her eyes, she instantly regretted it: The sudden, bright light made her head throb. She closed them again before slowly lifting her lids, giving her eyes time to adjust. She found herself lying on a cold, stone floor. In front of her was a crudely-made wall of iron bars. Her brows furrowed as her ears were filled with an assortment of noises. Many of them were made by dragons.

“What the…” she murmured, doing her best to ignore the pain in her head. There was a metallic ringing somewhere in the distance –a hammer on an anvil, no doubt-; it only added to the pain she felt. Swallowing hard, she rolled herself onto her front, waiting to see if her stomach would gurgle with sickness before pushing herself up.

‘Where in Midgard am I?’ she thought, looking around. What was revealed to her, however, was torch-lit stone. Stone walls, stone ceilings, and stone floor with the wall to her cell being the only non-stone thing in sight. Nearly everything was naturally formed, letting her know she was in some sort of tunnel-dungeon. ‘Didn’t Hiccup say something about the Outcasts living primarily underground…?’

She closed her eyes and began focusing on the sounds around her. Though there was little in the way of visible action, she could hear all sorts of noises from either side of her cell. Mostly, her ears were filled by the sounds of irritated dragons as they paced or tried to escape from their own confinements. Further away –though getting ever closer-, she could hear a pair of guards idly chatting with one another. The beating hammer continued to ring in the background of everything; it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

‘Definitely on Outcast Island,’ she thought. ‘But why would they bring _me_ here? And what did they do with Death Dance?’

Keeping her mouth shut, she stayed still and waited for the guards to pass her cell. The two men –who, like most Outcasts, were exceptionally hairy and wore a mixture of scale armor, plate armor, and heavy furs- were unaware of her conscious state as they walked by, too focused on their conversation.

“Where is my dragon?” Thora suddenly demanded, taking them by surprise. “Why did ya bring me here?” She glared up at them, her lips pulled back in a fairly menacing snarl.

“U-uh, she’s awake! What do we do?” the taller of the two questioned.

His companion hit him upside the head. “Alvin said t’ bring her t’ him, you ninny!” he scolded. Grabbing the ring of keys from the other’s belt, he went to the door.

Figuring she wouldn’t get an answer from the two of them, Thora fell silent, though continued to wear the snarl. When the guard opened her cell, he roughly grabbed her by the neck of her dress and pulled her to her feet. She growled at him, a mixture of the noise and her height (she stood a good five inches taller than him) making him balk. In retaliation, he shoved her in front of him, drawing his sword and pressing it between her shoulders.

“Follow him,” he commanded, adding a bit of pressure to the blade.

Having no choice but to listen, Thora began walking after the taller guard. Their path took them past many cells containing various types of dragons. There were Whispering Deaths, some Changewings, a couple of Deadly Nadders, and even a Scauldron locked up. She was more than a little surprised that the dragons were down here at all; from what she had heard, the Outcasts weren’t the smartest of tribes.

What worried her, though, was that there was no sign of Death Dance.

‘Maybe she was able to get away?’ she thought, biting her tongue. ‘She’s a fairly large dragon, after all…’ But then she remembered the dozens upon dozens of ropes and chains she had seen wrapped around Death Dance’s body, pinning her wings down and her legs together. ‘Oh gods, please let her be safe!’

They passed through more tunnels until they rounded a corner and, suddenly, torchlight gave way to sunlight. Thora cringed at the change in brightness and felt her eyes water a bit; she tried to rapidly blink them away, but it was of little use.

A sharp prod on her back by the guard made her keep moving.

Glancing around, she saw that they were in an arena much like the Training Academy back on Berk. Judging by the patches of red-brown smeared across the ground, though, this place was being used for more than just training. But what quickly caught her eye was the large, struggling dragon at the far end of the ring, her wings and mouth still bound shut.

“Death Dance!” Thora cried, her eyes widening.

The Boneknapper froze in her struggles against the Outcasts, her eyes wide as she saw her rider.

Shoving aside the front guard, Thora darted forward. Ahead of her, Death Dance began struggling harder against the ropes until one finally snapped –the one holding her mouth shut. Thora plugged her ears, knowing what was coming.

Death did not disappoint; her roar echoed through the air, knocking back the men around her and granting her tail freedom as they lost their hold on the ropes.

“Good girl!” Thora called out to her, ducking as two Outcasts went flying over her head. She gave a silent signal to the dragon. 

Shouts of panic arose as Death Dance breathed her fire, catching some of the men on fire. Normally, Thora would have wanted to help them –but not now. She was just about to reach the Boneknapper when someone grabbed her hair, yanking her backwards. She cried out in pain, trying to smack the person behind her when cold, sharp metal was roughly pressed against her throat. She froze completely, feeling the person snatch up her tail.

“Impressive,” a familiar voice chuckled, wrapping her tail around his hand a few times. “Almost as good as Stoick’s lil’ brat, I’d say.”

“Let me go,” Thora hissed through clenched teeth.

“You’re in no position t’ be makin’ threats, wench,” Alvin snapped. Looking up at the dragon, he called out, “Your move, beast! Ya can get be put away quietly or ya can watch her blood be spilled.”

Death Dance glared down at Alvin, growling low and dangerously. A bit of movement from Thora caught her attention; a signal. Reluctantly, she backed off and lowered herself to the ground, though continued to growl.

“What are ya waitin’ for?” Alvin barked at his men. “Chain it up – _properly_ this time!”

Thora shifted slightly, but not enough to make Alvin press the knife further into her skin. “What do ya want with us?” she demanded, trying to peek at him from the corner of her eye.

“What else? I want your dragon trainin’ knowledge,” he sneered.

At that, she snorted. “Ya got the wrong person for that, then. I know next t’ nothin’ about trainin’ dragons.”

“Ah, but I ‘ave it on good authority that ya know the contents o’ that Book o’ Dragons just as well as Stoick’s Brat –if not _better_ ,” he sneered. “So, if ya’d like t’ see your beloved Berk again someday, I ‘ighly suggest givin’ us your _assistance_.”

Clenching her teeth, Thora found herself having half a mind to bite off his other ear, but quickly scolded herself. That would surely result in her death –and, possibly, Death Dance’s. A heavy sigh left her mouth and she rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she grumbled, a bit of defeat in her tone, “but ya better not expect any miracles.” She swore as Alvin used the knife to force her head to tilt backwards.

“Ya better deliver me some miracles,” he threatened, moving the knife so that it was now pressed against her ear, “or else I’ll send ya ‘ome in pieces, startin’ with this ear o’ yours.”

Before she had time to respond, he let go of her tail and shoved her forward, not caring as she hit the ground. “Get that Boneknapper put away an’ bring out Groundsplitter’s gal. I want t’ start ‘er off _easy_.”

Rising to her knees, Thora cursed under her breath once more. Having no choice, she was left to watch as Death Dance, now fully chained up, was dragged away.

“I’ll find a way t’ help ya, girl,” she whispered. “I promise…”

She was just starting to wonder what kind of dragon it would be when an eerie, soft whispering filled her ears. Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard.

“Goddesses help me,” she whispered, watching as a Whispering Death was pulled into the arena.

 

* * *

 

 

“Three days and there’s been no sign o’ her, Stoick! I’m tellin’ ya, that Berserker brat has got t’ be the culprit!”

Stoick sighed, rubbing a block of ice against his aching head. “We don’t know that for sure, Gobber,” he told his friend. He was doing his best to keep himself calm; the island didn’t need two panicky figureheads. “Let’s just wait until Hiccup and the others return before jumpin’ t’ any conclusions, alright?”

Gobber frowned, half-glaring at the chieftain. “Oh, sure. If it’s your son who goes missin’, ya have the whole village sailin’ t’ wherever t’ find him, but if it’s just my daughter –your _niece_ , mind you!- you tell me not t’ jump t’ conclusions!”

Smacking the table with the block of ice, Stoick jumped to his feet. “Are you accusing me of not caring about Thora?” he snapped.

“Well, ya certainly aren’t doin’ much ‘bout her disappearance, aren’t you?” Gobber retorted, hand and hook on his hip.

“Gobber, the one-time Hiccup disappeared, we knew _exactly_ where he had disappeared to: Outcast Island, because he had been taken by Alvin.” He watched as guilt started to overtake Gobber’s anger. A heavy sigh left his mouth and he sank back into his chair. “We have no idea who or what happened t’ Thora and Death Dance and, until we find some sort o’ clue, I’m not lettin’ myself jump to any conclusions. And you can’t let yourself jump t’ them either, do you understand?”

Looking away with slouched shoulder, Gobber slowly nodded. “Aye, I do…” he murmured.

“I know you’re upset,” Stoick continued, his tone gentler. “I am too. Trust me, I am. Like ya said, she’s my niece. But ya can’t let your emotions get the best of you. Rash thinkin’ could only lead t’ trouble.”

Gobber plopped down in a stool, rubbing the back of his neck with his hook. “I just feel so useless, Stoick! My lil’ girl is lost out there in the world an’ I’m not there t’ help her! What kind o’ father lets that happen?”

Reaching across the table, Stoick patted his shoulder. “You didn’t ‘let’ it happen,” he assured him. “No one ‘let’ this happen. Her disappearance was a totally unforeseeable event that couldn’t have been prevented.”

“Could have if I didn’t let her go out alone,” he grumbled.

Stoick opened his mouth to reply, but Hiccup and Toothless suddenly burst into the room.

“We found something!” Hiccup cried, hurrying over to the table. “We found these near the ochre pit on the Island of Frigga.” Opening his arms, he dumped an extremely muddied shield and ax. “I sent these with her when she left the other day.”

Gobber frowned, picking up the shield and looking it over. Stoick copied his action, but with the ax.

“Did you find anything else, son?” Stoick questioned, being careful as he handled the ax –its shaft was nearly broken off in one place, as if something heavy had stepped on it.

Hiccup nodded, trying to catch his breath. “Lots of foot prints, bits of rope…It looks like whoever took Thora also took Death Dance, because some of her smaller, older bones were on the ground.”

Gobber shook his head, setting the shield down. “Did ya get an idea o’ who might have done this?” he quietly asked.

Unable to look him in the eye, Hiccup glanced away. “I’m afraid not,” he admitted. “There was no way to tell who had taken them. I have an idea of who could have done it, but I can’t say for certain it was him.”

“You did good today, Hiccup,” Stoick told him. “Do you think you an’ the others could spend the next few days searching the surroundin’ islands? With a dragon the size o’ Death, they can’t have gone too far.”

Hiccup nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”

“I need my own dragon,” Gobber murmured. “I need t’ be out there, helpin’ you lot. Thora’s my daughter! Some father am I, stuck here on Berk…”

“Wherever Thora is,” Stoick reassured him, “I’m sure she knows you’re tryin’ your best t’ help find her.”

 

* * *

 

 

A week had passed. Alvin had thrown all sorts of dragons at her, but she had so far been unable to train any of them. She had been forced to give up on the Whispering Death; the whispering sound its spinning rows of teeth made had nearly driven her mad after the second day. As punishment for her failure, she had been forced to feed the dragons.

Now, however, it seemed she was finally making some progress.

 “No, no, no! Put the spines away. No need for them, I promise!”

Thora bit her tongue as she stayed crouched low to the ground. In front of her, the Deadly Nadder squawked in irritation, but lowered the spines it had readied to fire at her. Twisting its head this way and that, the dragon did its best to keep an eye on the woman as she crept closer.

 “See? I’m not goin’ t’ hurt you,” Thora cooed. Remembering how Stormfly, Astrid’s Nadder, had a fascination with her tail, she brought it around.

Instantly, the dragon’s gaze focused on the tail, watching as it slowly waved back and forth. Soft noises of interest came from its throat and it cautiously stepped forward. Thora smiled as she reached her tail up, using the tuft of fur to lightly tickle its nose.

“Good dragon,” she murmured, slowly rising to her feet. “You’re bein’ a lot nicer than yesterday…” She extended her arm, moving to press her palm against the Nadder’s snout.

A cry of pain suddenly left her mouth as the dragon instead went for her tail.

“Not this again!”

As the Nadder snatched her tail up and ran away, she could hear Alvin beginning to howl with laughter.

Thora tried to grab hold of the dragon’s snout, but its waddling run made it nearly impossible for her to get a grip. “Ow, ow –Put me down! I’m still attached!”

Stopping, the Nadder realized this and squawked angrily. At first, it dropped Thora and started pushing her around on the ground to see if _that_ would free her tail of her body. Finding that it didn’t work at all, it came up with a new plan.

Thora’s stomach lurched sickly as the dragon plucked her off the ground and threw her into the air. Flashbacks of the last attack on Berk came to her mind and she started wishing there was a well to jump in. The breath was somewhat knocked from her lungs as she landed atop the dragon’s back.

The Deadly Nadder began twisting and turning itself around, its jaws snapping as it tried to grab her. When it was unable to free itself of the unwanted rider, it took to the air and started flying around the arena, doing barrel rolls and tight turns in an attempt to dislodge her.

Alvin was still laughing as Thora clung on for dear life.

“I told ya—I told ya t’ train the dragon!” he cackled, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Not become its plaything!”

Irritated by his amusement, Thora risked letting go with one hand and gestured crudely at him.

 

* * *

 

 

Gobber didn’t look up as someone knocked on his door. Instead, he stayed in his chair, staring and poking at the coals in the hearth. Again, the person knocked and again, he did nothing.

The door finally opened and Stoick poked his head in. Seeing his friend in the same spot he had left him in that morning, he let out a heavy sigh and came into the house. Behind him followed Hiccup.

“Gobber? We brought you some dinner,” Stoick said, heaving a still-steaming pot of stew onto the table. Beside it, Hiccup placed a basket covered with thick, red cloth. “Ylva made ya some o’ your favorite: Yak an’ parsnip stew! An’ Pála made ya some rolls…”

The blacksmith let out a heavy sigh. “’M not hungry,” he murmured. Even though he could smell how delicious the food was, he just didn’t possess the energy or willpower to move.

Stoick and Hiccup looked at one another, wearing matching worried expressions. Stoick lightly nodded towards the dying fire before busying himself with getting Gobber a bowl.

“You need to eat, Gobber,” Hiccup spoke, gathering up an armful of wood. “After all, what would Thora think if she knew you weren’t eating? She’d be worried sick, that’s what.” Kneeling down beside the fire, he started to replenish its supply of fuel.

Gobber closed his eyes, shaking his head as he wiped away a tear. “It’s been two weeks, lad, an’ there’s been no sign o’ her _or_ Death Dance…I’m beginnin’ t’ think there’s not a Thora _left_ t’ get worried sick.”

“Now see here!” Stoick suddenly barked, making both Hiccup and Gobber jump. “There’s absolutely _no_ reason t’ go an’ start believing that Thora is dead.” He came over, thrusting a bowl of stew into Gobber’s hand before grabbing his other arm. “Aye, she’s not here right now an’ hasn’t been for nearly a week, but that’s no excuse for ya t’ give up hope and go thinkin’ she’s gone off t’ Valhalla or Fólkvangr.” Yanking the fire poker out of the prosthetic holder, he roughly shoved the spoon attachment in its place. “So, you’re goin’ t’ eat this stew that Ylva worked hard t’ make an’ you’re goin’ t’ eat some ‘ Pála’s rolls, because Æsir help us when Thora returns an’ sees you’ve not been eating! She’ll kick all our hindquarters an’ then force feed ya for a week!”

Both Gobber and Hiccup gawked up at Stoick, finding an incredibly stern look on the chieftain’s face. No one said a word for many words, allowing the crackling of the fire to be the only sound heard in the house.

At long last, Gobber pulled his gaze away from the chief, staring instead at the bowl he held. In an almost defeated manner, he got a spoonful of stew and raised it halfway to his mouth. He stared at the thick broth and the large chunk of tender yak meat the spoon held, unsure if he really wanted to eat.

But Stoick was right.

There _was_ no evidence that his little girl was dead.

And she would kick their hindquarters –or, at least, she would give a scolding far harsher than any she had ever been given.

Stoick let out a sigh of relief when Gobber shoved the spoon in his mouth, barely swallowing his first bite before feeding himself a second. Pulling over a stool, he slumped down in it and patted Gobber on the back.

“She’ll be back. She’s too stubborn t’ not come back,” he quietly told the blacksmith.

Gobber nodded, chewing a large mouthful of stew as he watched Hiccup move to grab a roll. “She’s a Belch; o’ course she’s stubborn.” After swallowing his food, he managed to put on a small smile. “Not only that, but she’s got Greta’s blood in her veins. That alone will keep her alive through _anythin_ ’ the gods throw at her.”

 

* * *

 

 

A heavy sigh echoed throughout the dungeon.

It had been two long weeks since Thora woke up in the cell, but she didn’t know that. After the first few days, time seemed to slow down and things started blurring together. What didn’t help were the seemingly perpetual overcast skies that kept Outcast Island from seeing any hint of sunshine.

Thanks to the dragons she was attempting to train, her clothes had quickly become nothing more than dirtied rags clinging to her body. Her arms and legs were covered in small cuts and large bruises, acquired mostly by her jumping out of the way of fireballs and acid blasts.

But, despite the wear and tear, she had been successful –with _one_ of the dragons. It had taken her four days of harrowing work, but she had managed to tame the Scauldron, now named Boiler. Possessing a surprisingly calm temperament (once he came to trust humans, that is), Boiler had been granted to Alvin’s second-in-command, Savage.

It had been a short-lived partnership, however, as on the first flight with him, Savage made the mistake of flying over the ocean. Savage had been recovered –alive and angry-, but there had been no sign of Boiler since then.

‘Would have been nice if there was some way he could let Berk know where I am,’ Thora thought, her eyes closed as she tried to get some sleep. Stone, she had found out, made for a horrible bed. ‘But I don’t think Scauldrons would be terribly good for airmail…’

Footsteps resonated down the hallway and her stomach rumbled. It was about time for her daily bread and stale ale, so she sat up, deciding to put off sleeping for a while longer. A wavering shadow soon showed up on the wall across from her, growing shorter and shorter as the person drew closer. She could tell by the width of the shadow and the strange lump on its side that it was Mildew approaching with his pet sheep, Fungus.

“Let me guess,” she spoke as they came into sight, “Almost-rancid ale an’ maggot-spotted bread?”

Mildew raised his brow, a frown on his face. “You’re lucky t’ be gettin’ any food at all after your performance today, wretch.” He tossed a water flask at her through the bars before throwing a small loaf of rock-hard bread at her head. “Alvin is exceedingly disappointed.”

Rolling her eyes as she tried to pry the loaf in half, Thora shrugged. “I’d like t’ see _him_ try to find a dragon that can match its surroundings without gettin’ knocked about!” she retorted. She took up a large rock and used it to break the bread. She then opened the flask and drizzled some of its contents over half the loaf, softening it. “Especially one that shoots acid.”

Mildew watched her, a sneer on his face. “If I were him, I would have gotten rid of you with your first failure. After all, if a dragon-hater like _me_ can tame a Whispering Death, a softie like _you_ should have been able to.”

“Ya know, I’ve actually been wonderin’ ‘bout that, Mildew.” She took a bite out of the somewhat softer bread, pointing the rest of it at him as she spoke through a full mouth. “Ya hate dragons, aye? So, why did ya leave Berk, where we _train_ dragons, only t’ come here, where –guess what?- they’re _training dragons_! Seems a bit pointless t’ me, since ya want dragons dead so much.” She swallowed the bite and snickered. “What, were ya too ugly t’ join the Bog Burglars an’ too much o’ a coward t’ join the Bashem Oiks?”

Fungus angrily bleated at her before trying to head-butt the iron bars. Mildew, on the other hand, reached through the bars with his staff and tried to smack her upside the head. She simply leaned back, using her tail to grab the staff and give it a shove backwards.

“I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” he snapped. “Especially if you ever want to see your beloved Berk again.”

She rolled her eyes and dismissively waved her hand at him. “Aye, aye…‘Ya better get that Scauldron trained by sundown or you’ll never see Berk again!’. ‘Find that Changewing before noon or you’ll never see Berk again!’ ‘Stop that snorin’ or else your nose is the only part o’ ya that’ll ever see Berk again!’” She gave Mildew a bored look. “I’m _so_ scared.”

He scoffed at her before turning away. “Come along, Fungus…let’s get away from this brat of a monster…”

Thora glared at his retreating back. “I’m not a monster,” she grumbled. “You are…”

Letting out a sigh, she rested her head against the stone as she took a second bite of bread. She felt something pop between her teeth, but by this point, she no longer cared about the bugs. They had yet to make her sick, so she continued to eat them, figuring they had to have some sort of benefit.

Despite her attitude towards Mildew, however, it was becoming clear to her that there was a good chance that Alvin really had _no_ intention of letting her go. She had proven she _could_ tame a wild dragon –though it took longer than what anyone wanted and Hiccup would probably scold her on her technique if ever he saw it- but that meant she wasn’t entirely useless.

‘Why couldn’t he have wanted me for healing or something?’ she thought. Opening the flask, she drank a bit of the water. It took her by surprise; it was cool and clean. ‘I’m not about to tell him I’m a healer though. I’d never get any time to recoup after working with the dragons…’

In her time on the island, she had come to notice that many, if not all, of the Outcasts were sick or diseased in some fashion. With a lack of plant life on the island, it was easy to see why. She actually felt sorry for them.

There was one guard she especially felt bad for; his name was Logmar. From the start, he had been kind to her, sneaking her extra food in the mornings and giving her updates on Death Dance. He had also managed to convince Alvin to let Thora take a bath, claiming that it would improve her morale and help motivate her with her training. She did her best to help him out, telling him how to make the medicine he needed to treat a nasty infection on his arm.  

‘They need more fruit and vegetables, that’s for sure.’ Finishing her meal, she once more curled up on the ground. ‘I bet Trader Johann is a popular guy during his spring and summer visits. This place must be the reason why he has so few dried fruits from the Roman Empire left when he reaches Berk…’

With her belly somewhat full, sleep was able to come to her and whisk her away to a better place.

For a few hours, she was back home.

 

All too soon, however, she was pulled back to reality as the door to her cell creaked open. Groaning, she curled up tighter and covered her head with her hands.

“I’m sorry. I know ya were sleepin’, but it’s time t’ start on the dragons again,” a familiar voice said, kneeling beside her. He gave her a small shake to try and rouse her quicker.

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled, pushing him away with her tail.

Logmar batted the tail away. “Alvin’s in a foul mood, so I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“He’s _always_ in a foul mood,” she groaned, giving up. Yawning, she sat up. “It’s practically a part o’ his title…Alvin the Treacherous an’ Always Pissy.”

Unable to stop himself, Logmar snorted in amusement. “How ya’ve managed t’ keep a sense o’ humor about yourself, I’ll never know.” He helped her to her feet as she yawned a second time.

“It’s not really humor,” she sighed, following him out of the cell. “More o’ a way t’ keep myself sane.”

“Well, I suggest tryin’ t’ hold your tongue t’day. Alvin’s mood is worse than normal an’ we’re not sure why.” He reached into a pouch on his belt before pulling out a wad of cloth. “Also, here. It’s not much, but it’s somethin’.”

Her brow rising, she took the wad of cloth only to find that it contained a few links of cooked sausage. Her mouth instantly water, she uttered a quick thanks before taking a large bite.

She couldn’t remember the last time she ate meat –excepting the bread weevils, of course.

“How’s your arm doin’, by the way?” she questioned. “Did ya wash it with peppermint water an’ use the mixture?”

He glanced over at her. “The infection’s gone,” he replied, smiling. “It took a few days an’ I had t’ drain it twice, but it’s startin’ t’ heal up nicely.” He gently patted his upper arm. “Got it bound with some lavender-infused bandages right now. Use the last o’ my supply o’ lavender for it, though.”

Nodding in understanding, she started in on the second sausage. “When Trader Johann comes, try t’ get some more. Lavender, peppermint, an’ honey basically heal anythin’.”

“I’ll try. I wish we could grow some here, but only the Loki trees can survive.” He let out a sigh.

“If all else fails, ya can bring in dirt from elsewhere an’ use it t’ make a small garden.” She licked her fingers clean. “Dirt from Healer’s Island should work well enough, since almost anythin’ _but_ the Loki tree grows there.”

Logmar’s face seemed to brighten. “That’s a good idea!” he exclaimed, grinning. “If we bring enough in, we could even try plantin’ some vegetables or some fruit! I’m definitely goin’ t’ tell the others about that. I’m sure they’d help me out, especially since we’ve been missin’ parsnips somethin’ awful.”

Thora chuckled, amused by his enthusiasm. Her laughter didn’t last long, though. As she was finishing off her final sausage, they stepped into the arena. Logmar stopped at the end of the tunnel, gently motioning her to continue out into the daylight.

 Above them, Alvin and Mildew stood, Fungus at their side. Her brow rose; Alvin _did_ look even more upset than usual and she quickly spotted the reason: A small section of his beard was missing and some bandages were poking out from beneath his left pauldron. Shrugging, she shoved her braid over her shoulder only to scrunch her nose up slightly. Something was quietly rattling.

“Am I workin’ with the Changewing again?” she called out, seeing no dragon anywhere.

“No,” Alvin called back. “After yesterday, I’ve decided t’ give ya somethin’ a wee bit… _easier_ t’ work with.” She didn’t like the smirk he wore.

The rattling grew louder and the source of the noise was soon revealed as four Outcasts came into the arena, dragging with them a medium-sized dragon. Thora’s eyes widened; though it was bound by chains and a leather belt held its mouth shut, she instantly recognized what the dragon was.

A Snub-Nosed Hellsteether.

Terror filled her. She thought this dragon was nothing more than a fairytale told by Viking elders to scare children with. Swallowing hard, she started to back away from the dragon, though it was only brought further into the arena.

“Don’t tell me you’re _scared_!” Alvin cackled. “It’s just a wee ‘ellteether! ‘Ow ‘ard can it be t’ train?”

She didn’t reply; she was too focused on trying to recall anything that would help her against the dragon. ‘Small eyes make for poor eyesight,’ she thought, her heart racing as the chains were slowly removed from the Hellsteether. ‘Double jaws, with the second pair being able to lunge outward; avoid mouth area. It can spit acid and has acid blood…oh gods, what are its weaknesses?’

“What are ya waitin’ for, Thora?” Alvin sneered. “Get t’ work!”

Biting her tongue, she glanced up at the Outcast chieftain before turning her gaze towards the dragon. The guards had very nearly finished unchaining it when it suddenly whipped around, knocking them back. Its rattling warning ceased as the men let out cries of fear and scrambled away, but its mouth remained bound shut.

Very slowly, Thora began making her way towards the Hellsteether. She kept her eye on it as it charged after the guards, giving them a last head butt before turning around. Both she and the dragon froze as they saw each other.

The rattling returned; it was beginning to make Thora’s head ache. For now, though, she ignored the pain and cautiously knelt down in an attempt to make her seem less threatening.

“I’m not goin’ t’ hurt ya,” she spoke, her voice just loud enough for the dragon to hear. “I’m not one o’ those brutes.”

The Hellsteether narrowed its eyes as she began creeping closer to it. As it managed to slightly open its mouth, the rattling grew louder. It watched as Thora brought her tail around to her front, waving it slowly in an attempt to calm the dragon.

It seemed to work. As she came within just a few feet of the creature, the rattling stopped. A nervous smile came to her lips as she slowly reached out towards the belt around its jaw. She knew what she was doing was stupid, but she had to gain its trust _somehow_.

“Let’s get this thing off o’ your mouth, eh?” Her fingers brushed against the buckle and the Hellsteether shifted, rattling dangerously as a warning. “Easy…I’m just goin’ t’ unbuckle your mouth. Don’t ya want that?”

The Hellsteether silenced itself, but continued to warily eye her. It watched as she undid the buckle and unwrapped the leather from its snout.

“See? That’s not so bad, is it?” Thora questioned. When the creature made no attempt to harm her, she let out a sigh of relief. “You don’t want t’ be here as much as I don’t want t’…” Cautiously, she held her hand out, but made no attempt to press it against the dragon’s nose. She knew it had to be the dragon who did the nose-pressing, not her.

But the Hellsteether had other plans.

A cry of pain left Thora’s mouth as the dragon opened its mouth, a second, smaller pair of jaws darting out and gripping her arm. She used her free hand to punch the Hellsteether, making it let go. It rattled angrily and made to bite her again, but she threw herself away from it.

‘I knew that was a dumb idea!’ she scolded herself. Taking only a minute to inspect her arm, she bit her tongue as she watched dozens of holes ooze blood down her arm. She had lucked out; none of them had broken into her artery. ‘I’m such an idiot…’ Scrambling to her feet, she started to run away, the dragon taking chase.

“Ya call _that_ training?” Alvin shouted angrily. “Me mum could do better than you an’ she’s _dead_!”

“Shut up!” she cried, glancing over her shoulder. She swore, lunging to her left as the Hellsteether tried to spray her with acid.

Just as she had gotten to her feet, the dragon rammed into her with its snout and threw her against the wall. A groan left her mouth and she shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of the momentary disorientation. Looking up, she saw the Hellsteether flying at her, both its jaws opened wide.

Before it could get her, though, she ducked. She crawled away, hearing it smack into the wall only to rattle in anger a few seconds later. As she rose to her feet and darted towards the other side of the arena, Thora realized something:

She still held the belt.

‘Like this is going to be helpful,’ she thought, wrapping her tail around her waist. ‘There’s no way I’ll get it back on the Hellsteether! Unless…’

Spinning around, she took on a defensive stance and stared the dragon down. It snarled at her, acid dribbling out of its mouth, and started flying towards her once more.

“What are ya doin’?!” Alvin shouted, watching as Thora stayed still. “Offerin’ t’ be it’s lunch?!”

“Didn’t I tell ya t’ shut up?” she snapped, readying herself. As the dragon flew nearer, she swallowed hard.

The Hellsteether opened its mouth, throwing its secondary jaws outwards. They clamped onto thin air. Seconds later, it was jolted as a weight suddenly landed on it and it spun around, trying to see what had landed on it.

Then it felt something slide against the underside of its jaw. It began bucking, kicking, and throwing itself around, trying to dislodge its prey from its back.

“I really hate t’ do this,” Thora grunted, struggling to get the strap through the buckle while also holding on. “Actually, no, I don’t.” A small, victorious grin came to her lips as she got the leather into the buckle and pulled it tight before latching it closed.

Unable to free itself of the half-troll through its exertions, the dragon suddenly flipped itself over, smashing Thora between it and the stone floor. Wriggling around for good measure, the Hellsteether soon righted itself. Though it was unable to see the strap around its mouth, it could smell it as the acid left on its skin burned it, weakening leather.

Thora quietly swore as she rolled onto her side, pushing herself upright. Her entire body hurt and a bit of blood dripped from her face onto the ground. Slowly blinking, she looked up at the dragon, gasping when it forced its mouth wide open, snapping the belt.

Before its prey could escape again, the Hellsteether lunged forward and pinned her down with one of its feet. It rattled its inner jaws down at her, hearing whimpers of pain leave her mouth as drops of its spit fell down onto her body. Opening its mouth wide, it got ready to spray her with a full blast of acid.

Instinct took over Thora’s body.

Barely realizing what she was doing, Thora slammed her legs upwards, knocking it to the side. Getting on all fours, she bared her teeth and snarled at the dragon. It lunged at her and, instead of dodging, she jumped towards it. Landing on its head, she wrapped her legs around its throat while her arms tightly clasped its skull. It began bucking around again, trying to free itself.

There was a sickeningly loud snap and the dragon fell limp.

Climbing off of the Hellsteether, Thora looked down to see its head bent at an impossible angle. Slowly, her eyes widened in horror as the realization of what she had done filled her. A curse flew from her mouth as she backed away, tripping over her own feet and landing hard on her hindquarters.

Thora had killed the dragon.

Alvin was furiously hollering at her, but she didn’t pay him any mind. Her eyes welled up and a small sob left her mouth.

“I-I didn’t mean…” she choked out, as if the dragon could hear her. “I didn’t want…Oh gods, what did I do?!” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with her sobs; she really didn’t want to hurt the dragon, even if it was trying to kill her. She was a healer, not a killer -it was her job to _prevent_ death!

Alvin stormed into the arena, completely ignoring the dead dragon. He stomped over to Thora and, grabbing her by neck of her dress, hoisted her off the ground. “What did ya do t’ my dragon?” he snarled, painfully gripping her jaw in his free hand. He forced her to look at the corpse. “Ya call _that_ training, ya useless wretch!?”

“I d-didn’t mean to!” she sobbed, trying to free her jaw from his hand. “I was only protectin’ myself! I swear I didn’t mean t’ hurt it!”

He glared at her. “Ya didn’t ‘ _urt_ it –ya damn well _killed_ it!” he roared, spraying her face with spittle. Throwing her to the ground, he pointed at Logmar. “You! Bring me your ax!” he ordered.

Logmar froze, his eyes wide. “M-My ax, sir?” he stammered.

“Aye, your ax!” He kicked Thora, watching as she rolled a few feet. “I ‘ave no need for useless creatures like this on my island.” When Logmar still didn’t move, he snarled, “NOW! Unless ya want t’ be joinin’ ‘er in death!”

Thora’s eyes widened as she started to panic. “N-No, please! Ya can’t k-kill me! I was makin’ progress with the others—this one, th-th-this was an accident! It won’t happen again, I p-promise!” She tried to scoot away, but found herself trapped against the wall once again. She looked to Logmar for help as he came sprinting over, but only found a look of guilt and regret on his features. “P-please!”

Snatching the ax from the guard, Alvin paid her no heed. “’Old ‘er ‘air out o’ the way. I want t’ take it off in one shot,” he told Logmar. “Don’t want t’ risk missin’ an’ ‘ave ‘er keep snivelin’ like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Thora,” Logmar whispered, going over to her. He pulled her onto her knees, pinning her arms behind her with one hand while the other held her braids out of the way, nicely exposing the back of her neck for Alvin.

‘Goddesses help me!’ she thought. Sobbing, Thora clenched her eyes shut and continued to silently pray. ‘Please…please, goddesses, help me…I can’t die. Not yet. Please, not yet! Not without saying goodbye to my family. Please…’

She heard Alvin step closer. His armor creaked as he raised his arm…and creaked again as he swung.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The blade halted, its sharp edge just barely touching the skin of Thora’s neck.

Thora’s eyes shot open, her heart still racing. Daring to glance up, she saw Dagur approaching, three Berserkers flanking him on each side. There was no humor on his face as he gazed down at her.

Alvin glanced up, his brow raised as he watched the small group of warriors enter his arena. “An’ why not?” he questioned, not noticing as Logmar instantly released Thora and backed away.

Their leader shrugged, boredly looking over at the Hellsteether’s corpse. “Well, for one, it’s bad luck to kill a witch. Secondly, she just so happens to be my future queen, so if you kill her, I’ll ignore our little agreement and utterly destroy your entire island.”

 “’Er?” Alvin questioned, brows furrowing. “This wretch?” He lifted the ax, holding it in both hands, ready for battle should it happen. “Thought you would ‘ave ‘ad better taste ‘n that, lad.”

“Did you _not_ see that spectacular display of self-preservation just now?” Dagur leaned over, gently clasping Thora’s chin in his palm. He frowned, his brow rising as he saw the wounds –both new and old- covering her arms and legs. “You’re lucky I decided to pay a visit today,” he told her, letting go of her face.

Turning his back to her, he pointed at two of the Berserkers. “You two. Take her back to the ships and get her a bath. Bring her anything she requests and _try_ to find some clothes that’ll fit her. Oh, and once she’s dressed and fed, have her tend to our wounded.”

Still shaking horribly from the shock of everything, Thora let herself be lifted to her feet and led away. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the two chieftains beginning to converse, Alvin’s ax now resting casually on the ground as he leaned on the shaft. Swallowing hard, she looked down at the two Berserkers helping her walk; their faces were void of any expression.

She didn’t know whether this was the Æsir and Vanir’s idea of a cruel joke or if this is really what they had considered ‘help’. Regardless, she knew she should be thankful: Her life had been, for now, spared. But, if there was one thing about the entire situation she wasn’t very fond of, it was this:

Thora owed Dagur her life.


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some descriptions of yucky wounds in this chapter, so take care when reading~
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! If ya do, please leave a comment~ <3

“This is goin’ t’ sting. I don’t know how much, because I didn’t make the medicine, but it has peppermint in it, so the sting will turn t’ a cooling sensation in a few minutes, alright?”

“But it’s goin’ to help this rash clear up, right?”

“It should, aye. Not right away, o’ course, but if ya keep applyin’ it over the next few days, it’ll help.” Scooping up a small bit of the medicine, Thora used her tail to hold the man’s shirt up so she could apply the stuff to his back.

He let out a quiet hiss and she felt his muscles tense under her fingers, but he soon relaxed as the peppermint’s cooling effect took place.

“How long did ya say you’ve had this rash for?” she questioned, brow rising. The rash covered most of his right side and had been flaky, inflamed, and oozing in places. She had washed it with a mixture of lavender and chamomile, which had helped to bring down the inflammation.

He glanced over his shoulder at her as she gathered up more of the medicinal goop. “Er…a few weeks,” he admitted, cheeks turning a bit red.

“An’ why didn’t ya get it treated sooner?” She kept her voice calm and level; even if she had the energy, she knew better than to harshly scold a Berserker warrior.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he slouched forward with his arms on his knees. “Ah…well, our healer back home isn’t, ah…She’s not the nicest of women.”

Her brow rose; that wasn’t the first time that afternoon she had heard such a statement. “You’re not the first t’ say that. How bad is this woman?”

“Well, ah…Her name’s Hjördis the Horrifying, if that gives you any idea.”

Wiping her hands clean on a cloth, Thora let his shirt fall back into place. “…That’s certainly a terrifying name for a healer.”

He nodded. “She used to be one of Berserk’s greatest warriors –we even have a statue of her erected in the middle o’ our village in her honor, thus the title. But she took an arrow to the knee and was forced to stop fighting. She’s been a miserable wretch ever since then, so no one’s dared to make her change her title.”

“I…see,” she murmured. She fought back a yawn as she stood up, moving to properly wash her hands in a nearby basin. “Well, er, your rash is treated, so you’re free t’ go. Just make sure t’ take that lil’ pot there with ya. Keep the area clean –I recommend sleepin’ on your stomach if possible.”

The Berserker nodded in understanding as he stood up. “Thanks again, Miss Thora.”

She nodded at him as he left. Drying her hands, she went over to the door and poked her head outside. “Is there anyone else?” she asked the two men standing guard.

“That’s everyone,” one of them replied, turning his head to look up at her. “Do you require anything?”

She bit her tongue; while the other Berserkers had been friendly enough, these two were as cold as stone. More than likely, she thought, they were some of Dagur’s elite. “Maybe, er, a bit o’ food?”

“What would you like?”

“Some meat, maybe? An’ a bit o’ cheese? I’m not picky.”

He nodded and walked off, his companion remaining in place.

Thora stepped back into the room and let out a quiet sigh. Having not been told where to place her, the two men had brought her to Dagur’s quarters after her bath. She felt more than a little awkward being in that place, but she had to admit that it was a surprisingly comfortable room. There weren’t many decorations, just a few maps pinned to the wall as well as a drawing of Hiccup that looked as if it had been used for target practice (she tried to ignore it) and a bear skin rug. His furniture was simple, though the chairs had velvet cushions and his bed (unmade) had half a dozen or so pillows scattered over it.

‘He doesn’t really seem like the opulent type. Even if he was, there’s not much more you could fit in a ship’s cabin, even one as spacious as this…He must’ve stolen some designs from the Romans or Egyptians, though. Our ships don’t even have a below-decks area like this!’ she thought, moving to clean up the small mess she had made while tending to injuries. ‘I want to rip that picture of Hiccup down, though…I wonder if he would notice?’ Shaking her head, she used a cloth to wipe up some spilled oil. ‘Better not risk it. Who knows what he’d do if he noticed? I already almost died _once_ today…’

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawned. Now that the shock and adrenaline had worn off, she felt weak and exhausted. She wasn’t quite sure how she was still able to stand –let alone bathe, dress, and tend to injuries- after all that.

When her mess was cleaned up, she flopped down in a chair, letting herself slide down until her hindquarters hung over the edge of the chair. Her brow rose as she looked down at herself; she was clad in Berserker clothing. For the most part, the clothes fit fairly well, though the trousers fit poorly –they were too short in the leg and too narrow in the hips. The tunic, at least, fit her almost perfectly and was able to hide the partially-open lacings of the trousers.

‘Too bad they didn’t have any boots that fit,’ she thought, using one foot to scratch the other. ‘It’s still almost too cold to be walking around barefoot…’

Hearing approaching footsteps, she pushed herself into a proper sitting position and tucked some hair behind her ear. A few seconds later, the guard entered the room. He carried with him a large platter of food as well as a wooden pitcher. She blinked, taken aback by the amount of food.

“Th-thank ya,” she told him as he set it down on the table. The scent of roasted chicken filled her nose, making her mouth water and her stomach growl loudly. Before she could start eating, however, the guard held out his hand.

“Eat slowly,” he warned her. “Your stomach is used to prisoner food.”

Her cheeks darkening somewhat, she nodded in understanding. He _was_ right, after all –if she ate too much too soon, she would make herself sick. As he left, she poured herself a drink from the pitcher, her head tilting at the liquid’s amber color. Swirling it around in the cup, she lowered her nose to it.

‘Cider,’ she thought before taking a small sip. ‘Ooh, and it’s warmed cider, too…’ Pulling the platter a bit closer to herself, she slowly spun it around, looking over what she had been brought. Roast chicken, two types of cheeses, dried fruit, and soft bread all lined the plate; once again, Thora’s stomach rumbled loudly. ‘They certainly don’t skimp on the portions, do they?’

She ripped a piece of bread off of the loaf, letting out a small squeak when she greatly overestimated the amount of strength she needed; it wasn’t nearly as hard as the bread she was used to. Her cheeks darkened even more and she stole a quick glance at the door, but neither guard had moved from their positions outside. Lifting the chicken, she dipped the bread in the juices that had collected beneath it, letting the bread absorb as much as it could before popping it into her mouth. Her eyes shut as the flavors of chicken, herbs, and honey filled her mouth.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, leaning back. “This is _good_ …”

Thora continued to eat, though slowly. As much as she wanted to tear into the chicken like an animal, she resisted the urge and, instead, peeled strips of meat from the bones. Once in a while, she peeked over at the door to see if the guards had moved, but they remained at their stations. As she started to grow full, she let out a small sigh and slouched down in the chair.

‘This is crazy,’ she told herself. ‘This morning, I was an Outcast prisoner who barely got enough food to survive, let alone being locked up in a cell with rags for clothes. Now I’m a Berserker prisoner –hostage? I don’t know- eating a small feast and wearing their clothes.’

Tiredly, she rubbed her face before tilting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. ‘And through all of this, I _still_ don’t know how Death Dance is doing or where she is. Alvin better not be mistreating her, or else I’ll…I’ll bite off his other ear! Or just cut it off…I’d really not want to taste human flesh and blood again.’

She reached over and picked up the cup, taking another drink. ‘I hope dad and Uncle Stoick are doing alright. I know they’ve got to be worried out of their minds…that is, if they haven’t given up hope. With how long I’ve been gone, I don’t doubt…’ Closing her eyes, she shook her head.

“No,” she murmured aloud. “No, they wouldn’t give up like that.”

Sitting up once again, she straightened up the area in front of her, putting bones and uneaten bits of food back on the platter. She then tried to curl up in the chair, but it was much too small for her do such. With a defeated sigh, she glanced at the bed before raising her brow.

‘As comfortable as that looks, there is no way I’m crawling into Dagur’s bed.’

Instead of lying down on the bed, she stood and, taking the cushion from the chair with her, went to lie down in the corner of the room. The wood floor was softer than the stone she had been sleeping on, but was still hard and uncomfortable. After a few minutes of trying to find a decent position, she ended up on her stomach with her arms under her head. Closing her eyes, she forgot about being on the wooden floor of a ship as sleep quickly overtook her.

 

Something smelled strongly of cinnamon and cloves.

Thora deeply breathed in the scent, enjoying the warm spiciness of it as she nuzzled against her pillow. She felt something brush a bit of hair behind her ear, but thought nothing of it. Somehow, the hard, wood floor had grown softer while she slept and someone had draped a blanket over her body.

A quiet, protesting whine left her mouth as her pillow shifted and she heard someone chuckle. “Sorry, beautiful, but my leg’s falling asleep.”

Her eyes shot open. Swallowing hard, she turned her head only to find Dagur looking down at her, an _almost_ tender expression on his face.

“What-?” she started to say, but cut herself off when she glanced around. She found herself in his bed, under his covers, and using his leg as her pillow. Swallowing hard, she sat up and scooted away from him, her cheeks darkening greatly in embarrassment.

Dagur, amused by her reaction, merely chuckled. “Did I wake you?”

“H-How did I get over here?” she frowned, looking over to the corner where she had fallen asleep. The cushion still lay on the floor, looking rather lonely.

“How else? I picked you up and carried you.”

Her brow rose; she knew he wasn’t weak by any means, but with her recent growing spurts, she knew she had been putting on quite a bit of weight. “An’ you…strain a muscle or somethin’?” she questioned, looking at him skeptically.

It was Dagur’s turn to be confused. “Why would I?” He then let out a laugh. “I’ve wrestled men twice your weight and won!” Remnants of laughter shaking his shoulders, he shifted his position and leaned forward. He reached over and gently cupped Thora’s chin, lightly pulling her towards him with a smirk.

“Now, my beautiful little heartbreaker,” he spoke, his voice low and dangerous, “why don’t you tell me just how you ended up in Alvin the Treacherous’ dungeon?”

She swallowed hard, a shiver running down her spine as she stared into his eyes. “I-I was the Island o’ Frigga,” she stammered. “I was gettin’ some ochre for da’ an’ black earth for Hiccup.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the mention of Hiccup’s name. “Alvin an’ his men ambushed Death Dance while I was gone.”

“Death Dance?” he questioned, brow rising.

“M-my dragon. You’ve met her before.”

“Ahh, yes…” His eyes left hers for a second and he released her chin, pushing some strands of hair from her face. “The Boneknapper who sent me flying halfway across Dragon Island.” He frowned, his brow rising.

A small, sheepish smile came to her lips. “Well, t’ be fair, ya _were_ holdin’ a knife t’ my throat. Can’t really blame her for what she did.”

His smirk returned. “No, I guess not.” Leaning back on his elbows, he tilted his head slightly as he watched her. “Continue on with your story.”

“Er…Well, o’ course I ran back. I made sure t’ hide myself before I got too close t’ the place where I left Death Dance, but it didn’t help.” Thora hated to admit it, but, without his helmet, Dagur actually looked _handsome_. Rubbing the back of her neck, she pulled her knees to her chest and turned her gaze instead to the blanket. “Somehow, Alvin snuck up on me. Then, bam! Slammed my head into a tree an’ out I went. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up on Outcast Island an’ being forced t’ train dragons.”

“Which, as we both know, wasn’t going so well for you.”

Thora said nothing, only letting out a heavy sigh and closing her eyes. Biting her tongue, she felt tears trying to form in her eyes. Flashbacks of the last couple of weeks played over and over again in her mind. She thought she had grown numb to the abuse and pain –and, at the time, she had been. But now, it caught up to her and she began feeling the pain, the fear, and the hopelessness all at once.

‘I can’t even get some damned ochre without getting in trouble,’ she thought, burying her face in her knees. She did her best to hold back her tears, not wanting to appear even weaker in front of Dagur. ‘How does Gothi expect me to become a Völva if I can’t even talk my way out of being a captive?’

 ‘I _can_ talk my way out of this,’ a voice in the back of her mind suddenly scolded. ‘I’ve done it in the past, just under different circumstances. If anything, Dagur being in love with me will make things easier. I just have to…to flirt with him once in a while. That won’t be too hard. I mean, he’s handsome enough –at least, when he isn’t talking.’

Swallowing hard, she managed to subtly wipe away her tears. “I, er…don’t suppose you’d be willin’ t’ take me an’ Death Dance back t’ Berk, would ya?”

Dagur burst into a fit of maniacal laughter. “Now _why_ would I go and do a silly thing like that?” he cackled. Almost instantly, he ceased laughing, a seriously expression overcoming his features. “Though, speaking of Berk…Tell me, Thora: When you told me you had a boyfriend, were you lying to me?”

Thora tried her best to look a mixture of brokenhearted and remorseful as she rubbed the back of her neck. “A-aye, I was,” she murmured, “but with good reason.”

“And what reason would _that_ be?” he demanded, his tone cold and annoyed. “You had best tell the truth. I want no more lies from you.”

She nodded slowly in understanding, still doing her best to seem truly guilt-ridden. “The real reason I said I couldn’t be with ya is that I have t’ leave the Barbaric Archipelago soon.” She kept her voice quiet and shaky –not hard, since she still felt as if she could burst into tears at any minute. “I…I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. A few months, a few years…not even the gods know.” Glancing over at him, she could see the confusion on his face.

“Leave the Archipelago?” he repeated, brows furrowing. “Why in Midgard do you have to leave the Archipelago?” His eyes widened and he suddenly sat upright, clenching his fists. “Are you being exiled because of your troll blood? Or does someone want you dead? If _that’s_ the reason, I’ll find whoever it is and have their guts for gar-” He blinked, instantly falling silent as she pressed a finger to his lips.

Thora quietly chuckled. “It’s nothin’ like that, I promise,” she assured him, pulling her hand back. “I…I’m just goin’ t’ go learn magic an’ medicine from my brothers.”

“Brothers? You have…brothers?” His brow rose, though his eyes narrowed. “Since when?”

“Since birth?” she retorted, a bit of sarcasm escaping. “I have three o’ them.  All o’ them are pure-blooded troll an’ apparently _centuries_ older than me.”

This new information seemed to intrigue Dagur, as he leaned forward slightly. “And they’re going to teach you medicine _and_ magic?” he questioned.

She nodded. “Aye.”

He leaned back again, suspicion in his eyes. “Men don’t learn magic, let alone _teach_ it. It’s taboo. It’s _wrong_.”

Her brow rose. “Trolls are _not_ men.”

Something about the way she spoke the phrase sent a shiver down Dagur’s spine.

“So, there ya have it,” she spoke again, her voice regaining its former softness. “The _real_ reason I can’t be with ya. I wanted t’ tell ya outright, but da’…” She feigned a sigh. “Da’ an’ Uncle Stoick wanted t’ keep it quiet tha’ I was leavin’. They thought if the other tribes found out, they’d think I was goin’ off t’ become some sort o’ bloodthirsty warrior instead o’ what I was _really_ goin’ t’ learn.”

“Just like how they decided to _lie_ about training dragons.” His stared up at her, his expression and voice dry.

“They thought it would be for the greater good.”

“They were _wrong_!” Thora gasped, falling back on her elbows as Dagur suddenly lunged forward, snarling. Her heart was racing in fear; his face was just inches from hers and filled with pure rage. “They, along with _dear_ Brother Hiccup, only succeeded in making a fool out of me in front of my _entire_ armada!” His expression slowly began to soften as he saw the terror on her face.

Lifting a hand, he brushed his fingers against her cheek, taking care to avoid her bruises. He felt her tremble in fear as he did so. “Tell me, Thora,” his voice was much softer now, “do I frighten you?”

She was silent at first, unsure of how to respond to such a question, especially when she was so vulnerable. No matter how she answered, his reaction would be unknown: He could burst out laughing, he could apologize…or he could slit her throat.

The mixture of cinnamon and clove filled her nose again, calming her ever so slightly; she hated how much she enjoyed the scent. “T-to be honest?” she stammered, noticing how he had become fixated on her lips. “At…At times, aye, ya do scare me.” She felt her cheeks growing hot the longer he stared at her.

“Is that so?” he murmured, letting his thumb brush against her lower lip. She shivered again and her eyes closed halfway; why did that feel… _good_? “And why is that?”

“What happened on Dragon Island,” she replied, “an’ our tribes bein’ enemies now.” Biting her tongue, she somewhat tilted her head as Dagur brushed some hair from the side of her neck; she could feel his breath against her skin. “One false move or one wrongly uttered phrase an’ you could easily have me executed like Alvin nearly did.”

He suddenly laughed, pulling away from her. “ _Me?_ Have _you_ executed?” he cackled. He passed his hand over his face, all humor instantly leaving it. “You’ve yet to give me a reason to execute you.” He did his best to keep the serious expression, but barely five seconds passed before he burst out laughing again.

Thora watched him, fear in her eyes. As Dagur reached over, pulling her to him, she flinched, afraid of what he was going to do.

Taking notice of her wince, he gently kissed her forehead. “I have no intention of sending you to Hel’s Gate.” Sliding off the bed, he walked over to the table, where he poured himself a cup of cider. “No, my beautiful Thora, I fully intend to make you my bride. And once I manage to convince Alvin to release you into _my_ custody, instead of his-”

“Wait,” she interrupted him, spinning around to face him. “What’s that supposed t’ mean, into _your_ custody? I’m already in _your_ custody!”

He let out a sigh, leaning back against the table. “Turns out, once I let slip that you’re a healer, Alvin demanded you back. Something about me stealing _his_ prisoner or whatever.” He took a drink of his cider.

Her eyes widened in horror. “N-no! Ya can’t let me go back there –he’ll find some reason t’ kill me for sure!”

“Oh, I made sure he knew that if he touched a single hair on your head or tail,” as he spoke, his voice got darker and more dangerous, “there wouldn’t be a single trace of his pathetic island left on Midgard.” Finishing his drink, he let out a sigh and returned to the bed, though he didn’t sit. Instead, he knelt down and opened a chest beside the bed.

Thora watched as he dug around for a moment before pulling out a metal-toothed comb. On the deck above, she heard quiet murmurings amongst the men, but ignored it. “So, I do have t’ go back?” she quietly asked as Dagur sat down atop the trunk.

“I’m afraid so, but it won’t be for long.” He reached back and untied the leather strip holding his hair in its thick braid. “I’ve heard rumors of a certain beast of Thor hiding up north. Once I get my hands on it, Alvin will have no choice but to give you back to me!” He let out a cackle, untwining the braid and starting to comb his hair.

Her brow rose slightly. ‘Beast of Thor?’ she thought.

“But! You won’t have to worry about going back until morning,” he continued. “I managed to convince him to let you stay the night here. After all, you’ve had _such_ a trying day. You could use the rest.”

Biting her tongue, she remained silent. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can stand being around Alvin,’ she thought. ‘Even if I _try_ to behave, I inevitably end up screwing up.’ She watched Dagur continue to comb his hair, humming quietly to himself. ‘If I can convince Dagur to take me back to Berk, though…Maybe –just maybe- I could bear Outcast Island a little longer? But how can I convince him? He’s already made it quite clear he has no intention of letting me go.’

Her brow rose a bit as an idea suddenly popped into her head. ‘He knows about my brothers now…And he knows that’s they’re full-blooded. Maybe if I throw in a small threat in with some flirting…?’

She slid off the bed and onto the trunk beside Dagur. He glanced up, becoming confused when she plucked the comb from his hands and started to comb his hair for him. He didn’t protest, however, and instead a grin came to his lips.

Letting out a feigned sigh of, Thora started to work at untangling a knot. “I hope my brother’s don’t get too worried ‘bout me,” she commented.

Dagur cocked his brow, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Well, I’m currently a prisoner,” she explained. “I’m not bein’ freed an’ allowed t’ go back t’ Berk, so there’s no chance I’ll be allowed t’ go t’ the mainland.” She let out another sigh, using her tail to pull back some of her own hair. “And in the letter my brothers sent me, they seemed really excited t’ see me an’ see how much I’ve grown since they last saw me…” It was a lie –but one she hoped ended up being true. “Ulfr, especially, wrote ‘bout how much he wanted t’ introduce me t’ our vassals.”

“Your…vassals?”

“Mhm.” She scooted a bit closer to him, draping her tail over his lap; Dagur’s cheeks turned a bit pink as he looked down at it. “I guess I forgot t’ mention that. My mum was a queen an’ when she died, Ulfr became king.”

Dagur was quiet for a moment, mulling over her words. “So, that means you’re actually a royalty?” he questioned as she finished with his hair.

She parted his hair into three sections, intending to braid it once more. “Aye.”

A broad grin spread across his face as he turned to face her, grabbing her shoulders. “That’s _GREAT_ news!” he cried. “That means Berserk could earn some _powerful_ allies in the future!”

Thora sighed, a despairing look overcoming her features as she turned her face away from him. “I’m afraid not.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if any sort o’ alliance is to be made, I’d have t’ go to the mainland so I can _meet_ them,” she explained, rubbing her arm and keeping her gaze away from him, “an’ t’ go to the mainland means I have t’ go back t’ Berk t’ gather my things. Not to mention, I’d have t’ have Death Dance; she’s how I’m travelin’.” She then stole a glance at Dagur, her face still wearing the false pain.

Again, Dagur was silent. Releasing his arms, he leaned back against the wall, an intense look of concentration on his features. The quiet of the room was almost unnerving; Thora was thankful she could hear the ocean waves lapping against the hull and the men on the deck above talking –it helped to calm her.

When nearly five minutes of the tense silence passed, she started to grow worried that Dagur was thinking of ways to create an alliance _without_ letting her go. Sliding her tail off his lap, she shifted her position so that she, too, leaned against the wall, though her head rested against his shoulder. She moved her tail so that it wrapped around his back, up across his chest, and draped over his opposite shoulder.

“It would mean more than a potential alliance, ya know,” she quietly told him. Picking up his hand, she turned it over and slowly started to trace the lines on his palm. She hoped what she was doing didn’t seem too strange; she didn’t really know how to flirt, after all. “Right now, I know next t’ nothin’ ‘bout magic, so I’d be a fairly useless witch if ya needed me t’ do any scryin’ or spells. Aye, I can heal, but only simple things like cuts, rashes, mild infections…”

Glancing up at him, she could see that he had a brow raised and a bit of skepticism in his eyes. Keeping her hands on his, she ran her tail along his jaw and watched as his eyes closed, a small grin coming to his lips.

“Ya wouldn’t want an untrained witch for a queen, would ya? I’d just make ya the laughin’ stock o’ the Archipelago. As I am now, I’m undeserving o’ a man like you.” Tilting her head back, she freed one of her hands and caressed his cheek, speaking softly near his ear. “But if ya were t’ let me go…I’d learn magic far stronger than what any human can teach me. I’d learn t’ heal any sort o’ wound or sickness. I’d be a queen _worthy_ o’ your affections.”

He shivered as she spoke, his smirk growing the more she spoke. “I like the sound of that,” he murmured. The image of the two of them some years down the road, both powerful and handsome to behold, filled his mind. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her only to find her staring up at him. “With my battle prowess and your magic, we could return Berserk to its former glory! We could even make it the envy of the Barbaric Archipelago!”

“ _Only_ if I could go train under my brothers,” she gently reminded him.

Dagur nodded. “Of course! Of course. Once I get you freed from Alvin, I’ll let you and your dragon return to Berk so you can go to your brothers.” He suddenly leaned over, his arms on either side of her as he pinned her between him and the wall; she shrank back, startled. All enthusiasm was gone from his face, replaced instead by a dour expression. “On _one_ condition.”

She bit her tongue, looking up at him innocently. “Wh-what would that be?” she asked, cheeks growing dark. She hadn’t expected any conditions to be made…

Gently, he lifted her chin and brought her face closer to his. “Our marriage.”

“I-I thought that was a given?” she replied, managing a small smile. “That is, if you’ll still have me when I get back. Like I said, not even the gods can guess how long I’ll be gone…Who knows how much we’ll change in that time?”

He laughed. “If anything, I fully expect you to become even more beautiful than you are now!” he told her. He continued to chuckle as she raised a doubtful brow. “Hard, I know…but, even since I last saw you on Dragon Island, you’ve changed a bit.” One of his ‘handsome’ smirks appeared on his lips and he wiggled his eyebrows in a flirtatious manner. “And, if I may say, you look _stunning_ in Berserker clothing.”

Her cheeks darkened once more. “I’d look better in somethin’ that fits,” was all she could produce for a reply. The second the words left her mouth, she regretted it.

A mischievous smirk came to his face. “Is that so?” Hooking an arm around her, Dagur pulled her flush with his body, his free hand lightly pushing some hair over her shoulder. “If they’re uncomfortable for you, I could help you _out_ of them.”

Before she could muster a reply, the door burst open and Alvin stormed in. “I need the-” He paused, seeing the teens rather suggestively embraced before shaking his head in disgust. “Ugh. Teenagers…” As he watched Thora shove herself away from Dagur, he continued with his original statement. “I need the girl back an’ I ain’t waitin’ until morning.”

Dagur frowned, jumping to his feet and pointing accusingly at Alvin. “You said I get her until morning!” he spat back. “I don’t intend on handing her over just because _you_ changed your mind!”

“I don’t care if you’re tryin’ t’ get lucky, _boy_ –one o’ my men is dyin’ an’ ‘e needs a ‘ealer!” Alvin snarled. He then looked at Thora, who had her knees pulled to her chest and a rather shameful look on her face. “Doesn’t look like she was enjoyin’ ‘erself, anyway.”

“I’m _sure_ it can-” Dagur started to protest, but Alvin merely grabbed his face and shoved him onto his bed, ignoring him.

Snapping his fingers, he motioned at Thora to follow him. “C’mon. I ain’t ‘avin’ one o’ my best men die because o’ some greedy boy-king.”

Swallowing hard, Thora darted from her spot. She kept her head down as she passed by Dagur, who had become entangled by his own bedding. After the two of them left the cabin, she heard the two guards rush into the room to check on Dagur only to get yelled at as they helped their chief untangle himself.

“Wh-who is it that’s hurt?” she dared to ask as they left the ship. Even though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her now, she was still scared to be in his presence. “An’ what sort o’ injury or illness is it?”

“Eh, ya ‘aven’t ‘ad the _pleasure_ o’ meetin’ ‘im. ‘Is name is Snorri.” Alvin replied, walking quickly. He wasn’t surprised that Thora could easily keep up with him. “We don’t know what ‘appened t’ ‘im. ‘E was fine all day, but then before dinner, ‘e started not feelin’ so well. Next thing we knew, he was passed out on the ground, sweatin’ up a storm.”

Thora sighed, thinking over the many different possible causes. “I’ll need all available medicines an’ medicinal herbs,” she told Alvin as they neared the Outcast living quarters.

“Already got ‘em assembled.” He shoved open a large, circular metal door, waiting for Thora to enter before letting it slam shut. Like the dungeons, the living quarters had been carved into already existing tunnels.

She winced, the loud, metallic clang rang in her ears. “Then can ya tell me what I have t’ work with?”

“Eh…Lavender, a bit o’ chamomile, some angelica, Loki tree bark –both whole an’ ashen-, an’ Loki tree sap.”

“Er…The Loki tree has a medicinal use?”

He snorted, seemingly amused by her answer. “O’ course it does!” he retorted. “What ‘as that ol’ bat, Gothi, been teatchin’ you?”

A frown came to her face as he insulted Gothi. “Plenty,” she coldly replied.

His brow rose. “The ash o’ Loki tree bark is good for stoppin’ bleedin’,” he explained, leading her down a winding corridor. “The bark, unburnt, can be steeped in ‘ot water an’ used t’ clean wounds. The sap is good for when ya can’t get a’old o’ some bandages for a while.”

“I’ll be sure t’ keep that in mind.” She followed Alvin into a room where a man was lying in bed, groaning in discomfort.  Next to the bed was a table, the medicinal herbs haphazardly set atop it. There were two other men in the room, one being Logmar and the other being Mildew. Her brow rose; Mildew was poking and prodding Snorri with his staff. “What are ya doin’?” she demanded of the old man.

“Tryin’ to find his wound, what else?” Mildew snapped.

Her fear of being around Alvin fading into anger, Thora stormed forward, shoving Mildew away from Snorri. “ _That’s_ not how ya check for injuries,” she quietly growled.

Snorri’s skin was very pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His breathing was labored and full of wheezing. Pressing the back of her hand against the man’s forehead, she sighed –he had an intense fever. She then lifted his eyelid, but that was of little use –almost all the Outcasts had yellow in their eyes from their poor diets.

“I’ll need some ice or snow or _somethin’_ cold, even if it’s just a bucket o’ sea water. I’ll also need a kettle o’ boiled water.” She pulled back the blanket, not at all surprised to find Snorri still fully dressed. _That_ wasn’t going to help his fever.

“Why do you need both?” Mildew questioned, brows furrowed.

“Cold brings down the fever an’ hot for cleanin’ anythin’,” Logmar answered for her. He gave Mildew a small shove towards the door. “Ya heard the lady –go get her some water.” He then turned towards Thora, ignoring Mildew’s grumbled protests. “What else do ya need, lass?”

She pulled her hair over her shoulder, beginning to messily braid it. “I’ll need him undressed. Also, more light.”

Alvin cocked his brow, staying quiet as he stood off to the side with his arms crossed. He’d never admit it, but he was worried; Snorri was his third-in-command and, like Savage, a good friend. He hoped Thora would prove better at healing than dragon training.

Some minutes later, Snorri had been undressed and only a blanket covered his pelvic area. Not that it mattered much to Thora –under Gothi’s tutelage, she had seen plenty of hairy, naked bodies already. As she looked him over, being as gentle as possible when she was forced to roll him onto his side to inspect his back, she could only find old scars and poorly-healed wounds at first.

‘Maybe he’s just sick?’ she thought. ‘Alvin said he was fine this morning…It could be dragon pox. …No. Dragon pox looks nothing like this. More than a cold, so possibly influenza…?’

But then, pulling the blanket back and revealing the underside of his stomach, Thora found the culprit: Just below Snorri’s belly button was a nasty, infected wound. She cringed in disgust; the skin around it was severely swollen and bruised while the wound itself was shades of white, yellow-brown, and green. Gently prodding the area around it, she was forced to cover her nose due to the stench of the pus that oozed from the sore.

“This…is bad,” she murmured, leaning away somewhat.

“Ya can fix it though, aye?” Alvin questioned, brow rising. “You’re a ‘ealer.”

She frowned, turning to face him. “ _In training_ ,” she replied. “I’m not sayin’ I’m not goin’ t’ try an’ help him, but…” She glanced at the wound again, motioning for him to come over and look at it. “As ya can see, it’s serious. Ya can even see a bit o’ his muscle in there.” Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. “How he was ‘fine’ this mornin’, I don’t know. This sort o’ thing doesn’t happen in that short o’ time—Unless…” She fell silent, thinking.

Alvin growled, his hand curled into a fist. “Unless _what_?” he demanded.

“Do ya have spiders on this island?”

His brow rose. “Spiders are _everywhere_ , lass. O’ course we got the buggers.”

“Then my only guess is that this is a bad spider bite.” She plugged her nose as she closely inspected the wound once more, looking for anything that resembled two puncture wounds. “On Berk, we don’t have deathly venomous spiders, so I haven’t seen anythin’ like this before.” With the wound being as bad as it was, she was unable to find anything useful.

‘If I don’t want this guy to die, I’m going to have to use my magic. There’s no way he’ll live otherwise, because Æsir _know_ I don’t know how to treat spider bites yet,’ she told herself, moving to check over the herbs. They were in dried form, with the chamomile and angelica being powdered. ‘They’re better whole, but these will have to do…’

Mildew returned, carrying a bucket of icy water as well as a kettle of steaming water. The kettle Thora snatched up, muttering a ‘thank you’ before dumping some of the herbs into it.

“Logmar, take that cloth there an’ start wipin’ the sweat off with the cold water.”

Backing off once more, Alvin remained silent as he watched Logmar do as told. Thora started washing the wound on Snorri, making the man groan and whine in his unconscious state as she tried to extract as much pus and yuck as possible. After some time, she grabbed one of the dried lavender plants; the other men didn’t see it, but he observed as the plant seemed to come back to life. Seconds later, Thora was squeezing it tightly, forcing its oils into the wound.

Nearly half an hour later, she called for a knife and he handed over his. She shoved its blade in the flame of a nearby torch, waiting until it was red-hot before dipping it into the medicinal water. He almost shouted as she started to cut into Snorri, but he held back his anger –but only because he recalled a time when he was still a Hairy Hooligan: Gobber had just returned from a battle and his arm was badly infected like Snorri’s wound. Gothi had been forced to remove bits of rotted flesh from the stump he had left.

When an hour and a half passed, Thora sighed, her eyes closed as she tilted her head back. Alvin was about to question her when he saw her hands, which were resting just above Snorri’s wound, light up with a strange, blue-white light. Mildew let out a yelp of surprise, jumping back and knocking over one of the braziers, scattering coals all over the stone floor. No one seemed to notice; they were too focused on watching the half-troll.

But just as suddenly as she lit up the room, the light faded away. She wobbled in place for a moment and then fell backwards. Logmar darted forward, catching her before she could hit the ground. His eyes were wide as he gawked down at her.

Alvin broke the silence, stepping forward. “Well? What did she do? ‘Ow does the wound look?”

Still holding Thora, he looked over at Snorri. His eyes remained wide. “It—it’s almost healed, sir,” he replied. “It needs dressin’, but I think I can manage that.”

Alvin cocked a brow, glancing down at the unconscious teen. “Huh. The whelp _was_ right about ‘er…”


	16. 16

Thora didn’t wake up for nearly two days after healing Snorri. By the time she regained consciousness, Dagur and his men had left Outcast Island and Snorri was up and walking. For that, he received a firm scolding –the sore wasn’t completely healed and, as such, he should still be in bed, regaining strength and letting the wound finish healing naturally. She also demanded he take a bath, as hygiene was part of the reason the wound had gotten so bad.

In fact, she had ordered _all_ the Berserkers to take a bath.

Not a fan of this idea, Alvin argued against her. The two of them had gotten into quite the heated yelling match and it would have turned physical if Logmar hadn’t held Alvin back. It was only when Thora told them that spiders loved to nest in unkempt hair (and she had ‘proved’ it by pulling a spider-shaped wad of old moss out of Mildew’s hair) and beards that he finally gave in. He couldn’t risk more of his men getting bitten by the spiders.

While still technically a prisoner of Alvin’s, Thora had soon discovered that her newly-revealed status as a Völva-in-training granted her a few perks. For one thing, she no longer slept in the dungeons: She had been given a place to sleep in an unused storage room. It wasn’t the roomiest of accommodations –she was forced to hunch over when standing and it was barely two spans wide- but it was an improvement. Secondly, she was treated with some meager amounts of respect by Alvin and Mildew; more than likely out of fear she would curse them.

The final perk, though, was her favorite: She was left free to roam the island. Not that there were many places to go; most of the place was inhabited by ‘vicious’, wild dragons while the rest was either comprised of sharp, jagged cliffs or thin, pebbly beaches. She didn’t do much exploring at first, preferring to instead visit a certain dragon.

“There’s my sweet Boneknapper,” she cooed, approaching the pen where Death Dance was being kept. Unable to fit in the cells with the other dragons, she had been locked up in a pit about half the size of the training arena. It, at least, allowed her to run around and spread her wings, even if she couldn’t fly. “I brought ya some lunch!”

The Boneknapper waddled over, her eyes wide in excitement. Nuzzling her rider, Death Dance made noises of happiness and very tenderly nipped at Thora’s arms and shoulders. She only stopped when she was gently pushed away.

“I’m glad t’ see ya two days in a row, too,” Thora laughed, setting the basket of fish down. As she opened the lid, Death Dance began hopping from one foot to another, eagerly chirping and beating her wings. When Thora dumped the fish on the ground, she began gobbling them up. She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight; it would never fail to amuse her.

“’Ow can such a large beast covered in the bones o’ its dead enemies be so…so unthreatening?” Thora glanced over her shoulder, frowning as Alvin entered the pen. He looked confused and irritated –not much different than normal. “It just doesn’t make _sense_.”

“Most dragons aren’t vicious, bloodthirsty villains,” she replied, her voice a bit cold as she closed the basket. No longer having to worry about being beheaded at any given second, her fear of the man had almost entirely dissipated. “What do ya want?”

“I want t’ know what sort o’ talk went on between you an’ Dagur the other night,” he told her, putting his hands on his hips. He did his best to look threatening –not that he had to try very hard- as he stood between Thora and the only way out of the arena.

Death Dance made an irritated noise as she continued to eat her fish, though her eyes were now focused on the Outcast chieftain.

Thora, however, crossed her arms and sighed, locking gazes with him. “Nothing important,” she replied, her tail righting the basket. “I told him about how ya managed t’ kidnap me an’ Death, how ya treated me, the sort o’ food I was forced t’ eat…Ya know the rest, since ya came burstin’ in.”

His brow rose, unconvinced by her words. “Oh really? Because I’m fairly certain two people don’t end up so _intimate_ just by talkin’ ‘bout ‘ow one o’ them was kidnapped.” He stalked forward a few steps, trying to gain the intimidation factor; he would have leaned over her for more effect, but she stood just a few inches taller than him. “What _really_ went on between the two o’ ya?”

Her cheeks darkened greatly in embarrassment and she bit her tongue, looking away; Alvin had won the stare-down. “Wh-what does it matter t’ you?” she stuttered. “The Berserkers are gone -for now- an’ I’m _still_ stuck here. Seems t’ me that’s all ya need t’ know.”

“It matters because I want t’ know what the two o’ ya were plannin’,” he growled. “Don’t think I don’t know tha’ the two o’ ya weren’t devisin’ some sort o’ scheme against me. Why else would a twerp like ‘im try t’ keep a witch on ‘is ship?” He sneered at her, not caring when she pulled her lip back in a snarl. “From the looks o’ it, I’d say the two o’ ya were ‘bout t’ do some sort o’ sex magic…probably t’ try an’ bring a curse upon me or my tribe.”

Cocking a brow, she looked at him with bewilderment. After a few seconds, she started to shake as she tried to hold back a fit of laughter. A few seconds more and she was no longer able to keep her composure. She burst out laughing, falling to her knees as she felt tears of mirth begin to slide down her cheeks.

“What’re ya laughin’ about?” Alvin snarled. He reached over and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. Death Dance tried to snip him, but he stepped back with Thora in tow. “I’m serious!”

“I know—I know ya are!” she cackled, still doubled over and holding her stomach. “Oh gods, that’s the best part!” After a minute, she was able to somewhat regain her composure; her stomach and face ached from laughing so hard. “ _Sex magic_?” she repeated, wiping away her tears. “Ya really expect _me_ –an ugly half-troll wretch _an’_ only in the beginnin’ o’ my training- t’ know how t’ do _sex magic_?” It took all her self-control to keep herself from cracking up once more.

“Trust me, lass: I’ve seen witches far uglier than ya perform sex magic,” he retorted, voice dry as he crossed his arms.

“An’ ya _didn’t_ gouge out your eyes? How’d ya manage that? Unless ya were the one who requested the spell…” She let out a mixture of a snort and a yelp as he grabbed her arm once more, squeezing it painfully tight as he pulled her close to him.

“ _What_ were you an’ Dagur plottin’?” he snarled quietly, his voice far too dangerous for Thora to ignore any longer. “An’ ya ‘ad best tell me the truth or _else_.”

She quietly growled, yanking her arm out of his grip. “Fine.” Rubbing the sore spot on her arm, she scoffed down at him. “Ya want t’ know what we were plottin’? We were plottin’ our future _wedding_.”

“I _told_ ya-”

“I’m not lying!” she snarled, barring her teeth. “Ya heard him the day ya tried t’ kill me! He plans on makin’ me his queen, whether I want it or not. Knowin’ I don’t really have a choice in the matter, I agreed t’ start plannin’ things with him last night. Ya found us in tha’…tha’ position because he took somethin’ I said the wrong way an’ acted too fast for me t’ stop him.” She dared to shove Alvin before turning her back on him and going over to her dragon. “No plottin’ against ya, no sex magic – _just_ weddin’ talk. Ya happy now?”

She could feel the hatred and anger on her back as Alvin continued to glare at her, but he said nothing. Hearing his footsteps storm towards the exit, she peeked over her shoulder in time to see him disappear through the gate. A heavy sigh left her mouth and she patted Death Dance’s skull.

“I hate that most o’ that wasn’t a lie,” she mumbled, resting her forehead against the warm bone. Closing her eyes, she reached up and wrapped her arms around Death Dance’s horn, biting her tongue.

Death Dance chirped quietly, concern in her tone and on her face. Shifting herself, she sat down and, using her lower jaw, gently pulled Thora against her and used her wings to cover her protectively. Thora couldn’t help but let out a small laugh before hugging the dragon.

“Don’t worry, girl,” she murmured. “I’ll find some way t’ _not_ marry him. But that’s only if I can’t get the two o’ us out o’ here first.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was nearly midnight when the door to her room slammed opened, jolting her awake. With a curse, she covered her eyes against the bright torchlight and her nose against the smell that blew in. Hearing an irritated bleat, she knew who had burst in.

“Ugh, didn’t Alvin order you an’ Fungus t’ take a bath, Mildew?” she groaned.

She yelped in pain, his immediate response being to smack her in the gut with his staff. “Alvin demands your presence in the arena,” he snapped. “ _Immediately._ ”

Squinting thanks to the light, she cocked a brow. “I’m not trainin’ any more dragons, so what does he want?” she demanded.

“You’ll find out when you get there.” Turning, he started to leave the room.

Fungus remained behind, watching as Thora untangled herself from the blanket and got up. He bleated at her to hurry up as she accidentally smacked her head against the ceiling. Then, turning, he started to trail after Mildew once he was certain the woman was going to follow. As the trio made their way towards the arena, he would glance over his shoulder to make sure Thora was still there –and she was, yawning and shivering against the night air and the cold, stony ground.

But then she paused, her eyes opening wide as a stream of lightning shot _upwards_ from the arena.

“What in the name o’ the All-Father…” she gawked, jaw somewhat slack. She was brought out of her awe as Mildew made to thwack her with his staff, but thanks to being around Gothi, she saw it coming and easily avoided it.

“ _That_ is why Alvin demanded your presence,” he explained. “Now go on. Fungus an’ I aren’t going any closer –at least, not until that _thing_ is put away.”

Raising her brow, Thora continued on her way. “I’ll be sure t’ let Alvin know ya didn’t follow his orders while I’m at it!” she called, smirking as she heard the old man curse her existence.

As she entered the arena, she was greeted by the sight of three burly Outcasts struggling to drag a medium-sized purple dragon into one of the cells. Her brows furrowed slightly; it looked strangely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. A foul word left her mouth and she jumped back as the dragon spat lightning at one of the men, but he was able to duck out of the way before harm came. His hair, however, was now standing practically upright.

“Wh…What is _that_?” she questioned, afraid to move any closer.

“That, witch, is a Skrill.” It wasn’t Alvin who spoke, but Savage –his second in command. She shuddered; something about this man had always given her a bad feeling. “Our men captured it this afternoon an’, of course, brought it back here.” He glanced at her, brow raised. “What do you know about it?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to rake her memory for anything involving this dragon. “Not…much,” she admitted. “Er…It can –usually- only be found durin’ storms an’ there’s somethin’ ‘bout it bein’ able t’ withstand freezing temperatures.”

“That’s _all_?” Savage scoffed.

“Excuse me for not knowin’ much about a _mystery class_ dragon,” she retorted. Her brows suddenly furrowed; somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard a familiar voice. Trying to be subtle, she glanced around at the cliffs above. The darkness beyond the arena, though, was impenetrable.

A yelp left her mouth as she was lightly shoved forward. Looking behind her, she growled as she saw Alvin. “Go get a better look at it,” he ordered, “an’ tell me if ya can find any obvious weaknesses.”

“That’s not my job anymore-”

He bared his yellowed teeth at her, snarling. “ _I’m_ in command ‘ere an’ I say your job is t’ tell me ‘bout its weaknesses!”

Grumbling, Thora cautiously started to get closer to the dragon. Thankfully, the men had managed to lock it in the cell. Unluckily, she knew it could still shoot its lightning; its skin rippled with tiny bolts of energy. She swallowed hard and, as she drew nearer to the cell, she slowly began to lower herself to the ground to lessen any intimidation the creature may feel towards her.

“I’m not goin’ t’ hurt you,” she murmured, using all four limbs to move now. “I just want t’ get a good look at ya, alright? So please don’t send me t’ the afterlife with your lightning breath.”

The Skrill growled as she got closer, but didn’t open its mouth. Instead, it narrowed its yellow eyes and watched her closely. As her tail rose into the air to help keep her balanced, it tilted its head ever so slightly; the other two-legged creatures didn’t have one of those…

“Dark purple with even darker purple markings,” she murmured, peering past the iron bars. “Lighter underbelly…two legs, two wings. Frilled crest…Ah, goddesses, I need Fishlegs here.”

_“Dude…Is that…_ Thora _?”_

_“Oh my gods! It totally is! We found her_ and _the Skrill!”_

Her eyes shot open as she heard the voices. She looked around, once more trying to peer up through the darkness, but to little avail.

“What’s wrong?” Alvin called, brow rising as she looked everywhere _but_ at the dragon.

“Er…ah, storm’s comin’ is all!” she called back. The Skrill hissed at her sudden raised voice. “S-sorry,” she told it, her voice softer now. Going back to inspecting the dragon, she bit her tongue. ‘Why in the world are Ruffnut and Tuffnut here?’ she thought, also taking note of how the Skrill’s underbelly didn’t seem to have the same sort of scales as the rest of its body. ‘And why were they looking for this thing?’

After five or so minutes, she crawled away, finally standing upright when she was sure the Skrill wasn’t going to use her for target practice. Alvin and Savage looked at her expectantly, the former impatiently drumming his fingers against his arm.

“Its underside looks softer than its topside,” she sighed, pushing some of her hair back. “An’ its wings are built for speed, not for maneuverability.”

Alvin seemed confused. “Is that all?”

She nodded. “From what I could see.”

He chuckled darkly. “Good. You’re free t’ go, witch.”

Not waiting for him to change his mind, she hurried past him and out of the arena. She started to walk back towards her room, though she had no intention of going back to bed. Tilting her head, she tried listening for the twins again, but they must’ve knocked each other unconscious or were being quiet for once: She heard nothing above the general murmur of voices of the village around her.

Walking past her room, she sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘I need to find the two of them before they get themselves into serious trouble,’ she thought. ‘I know trouble follows them like a lost puppy, but if they tried some sort of death-defying rescue mission thing, they wouldn’t be defying death for very long…’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘Gods, please let them be lying low for now…’

“Where do ya think you’re goin’?”

Freezing, she eased up only when she realized the voice didn’t belong to Mildew or Alvin. Sighing, she turned around and tiredly smiled at Logmar. “Just goin’ for a walk,” she answered. She hadn’t even realized she had passed his station.

“This late?” He frowned. “A lil’ dangerous, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “Eh. Blame Mildew an’ Alvin. They woke me up, wantin’ t’ know ‘bout the dragon they captured earlier.”

He nodded in understanding. “Alright…but just be safe out there, alright? There’s a storm brewin’ an’ this isn’t the best o’ places to get caught out in one. Not t’ mention the wild dragons…”

A reassuring smile came to her lips as she chuckled. “I’ll be back before dawn, I promise,” she told him. “Later, Logmar.”

“Later.”

Once she was clear of the Outcast fortress, Thora took off at a run in the direction she had heard the twins’ voices come from. Biting her tongue, she continued listening for them, able to hear snippets of conversation every once in a while.

When she was half a mile from the stronghold, she risked calling out. “Ruffnut? Tuffnut? I know you’re out here!” she shouted, stopping for a moment. Her shoulders heaved as she panted and her breath formed small clouds in the chilly air. “Please come out!” Her voice betrayed her desperation.

Something dislodged a rock behind her, making it skip across the ground. Turning around, Thora let out a small yelp as she was suddenly tackled to the ground, a pair of bodies pinning her down as they hugged her. She didn’t care that her backside was now on fire from the fall; she clung onto her friends and let out a mixture of a sob and a laugh.

For many minutes, the trio said nothing to each other as they sat in the group hug. The air was filled with the sounds of sobs, choked laughs, and sniffles. Barf and Belch soon came out of hiding and, seeing their long-lost friend, hurried over and wrapped their necks around the group. Thora laughed while the twins grunted, both annoyed and amused by their dragon.

“Why in Midgard are the two o’ ya on Outcast Island?” Thora finally managed to ask, her voice shaky. She tried to wipe away her tears, but it was no use –they just kept flowing.

“We were following the Skrill,” Tuffnut explained, his voice shaky as he pulled back a bit. “We thought it’d be something Hiccup would want us to do.”

“We thought you were dead!” Ruffnut bawled, still clinging onto her friend. “ _Everyone_ back home thinks you’re dead!”

Thora’s eyes widened. “Wh-what?!” She barely noticed when Barf and Belch plopped down behind her, letting her rest against their side.

Tuffnut frowned, punching Ruffnut with one hand while he used the other to rub the snot from his nose. “No they don’t!” he scolded. “Just _most_ of Berk thinks she’s dead!”

Biting her tongue, Thora looked away from the two of them. “I…I guess I’ve been gone longer than I thought,” she mumbled. She lightly patted Ruffnut’s head, though raised her brow when she realized that Ruffnut had planted herself in the middle of her chest.

Ruffnut nodded, squeezing her harder just to make sure she was real. “You’ve been missing nearly a month! We couldn’t find _any_ sign of you anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Tuffnut agreed. “It was really weird. It was like you and Death Dance just vanished.” He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands. “Personally, I thought one of the gods may have snatched you up.”

Her brow rose. “Why would a _god_ kidnap _me_?” she questioned. Hearing a strange noise, she glanced down only to cringe in disgust. “Ruffnut, please tell me ya did _not_ just blow your nose on my tunic…”

“It smells better than mine,” she sniffled. “But the fabric is crap.”

Ignoring his sister, Tuffnut shrugged. “I dunno. You’re a Völva-in-training. Maybe they wanted to give you private lessons or something?” He grinned as Thora snorted, glad to hear her laugh. “So what _really_ happened to you?”

Shaking her head, Thora let out a heavy sigh. “Alvin kidnapped us. Mildew told him I knew the Book of Dragons just as well as Hiccup and that I’d be a suitable replacement for Hiccup.” She let out a sarcastic laugh, finally using gentle force to pry Ruffnut off of her chest.

Ruffnut sniffled again, wiping her eyes before blowing her nose on the hem of her own tunic. “So you’ve been stuck here, training dragons?” she questioned, her voice wobbly. “Doesn’t sound _too_ bad…”

“But uh, those clothes?” Tuffnut interrupted. “Those clothes _are_ bad. What happened to your stuff?”

“Completely and utterly ruined,” Thora sighed. “Dragon training did _not_ go well, t’ say the least.” Biting her tongue, she glanced away. “The only one I was successful with was a Scauldron. It managed t’ escape before it was used t’ terrorize anyone, though.”

The twins looked at each other, brows raised; they could tell something was up with Thora. Her voice had gotten a bit sad and she wasn’t looking at them. Turning their attention back to her, Ruffnut shifted herself so that she was on one side of her while Tuffnut sat on the other side.

“Sounds kinda like something else happened,” Ruffnut commented. “Did you get hurt or something…?”

“No, no…I was fine for the most part. Bruised an’ scrapped up, but nothin’ serious.” She shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest. “It’s just…I…” She let out a heavy sigh. “I accidentally killed one o’ them.” She bit her tongue, hearing the twins gasp in unison.

Barf and Belch made a surprised noise, shrinking away from her.

“I honestly didn’t mean to!” she continued, seeing the dragon’s fear. “It was tryin’ t’ kill me first. In fact, it was _about_ t’ kill me. But…I guess instinct just kind o’ took over an’ next thing I know, I’m starin’ down at a broken neck.” She buried her face in her knees, clenching her eyes shut as tears began welling up. “That got Alvin so upset, he nearly beheaded me. The ax was on the back o’ my neck an’ everything.” A quiet sob left her mouth.

The twins glanced at once another again, matching looks of concern on their faces.

“So, what stopped him?” Tuffnut questioned, starting to rub her back. “Did you steal his ax and beat the crap out of him? If you did, please tell me you took over Outcast Island, because how _cool_ would that be?”

She managed to let out a small laugh, but it was strained. “I wish!” she retorted. “If I were in charge, I’d get their asses off this rock and onto a better island, for one.”

Ruffnut chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Of course you would…you care too much about people to worry about the fact that they’re stinky, evil Outcasts.” She wrapped her arm around the back of Thora’s shoulders, giving her a small, reassuring squeeze.

“They’re not evil, really…Er, well, some o’ them are. But most o’ them are just ordinary blokes. One o’ them, Logmar, was especially nice. He snuck me extra food when I was locked up an’ is overall just a nice guy. I wish I could get him t’ defect t’ Berk…”

Tuffnut shrugged. “Ask him. Maybe he will?” He picked at a loose thread on her tunic. “So…you didn’t tell us yet who stopped Alvin.”

“Yeah,” Ruffnut agreed. “‘Alvin the Treacherous’ isn’t the name of a guy who instantly changes his mind when it comes to beheadings. So, spill the barley: Who stopped him?”

Biting her tongue again, Thora rubbed her face. “Dagur the Deranged.”

“What?!” they cried in unison.

“What was _he_ doing here?” Tuffnut demanded. “I thought we left him on Dragon Island?!”

Ruffnut cocked her brow, giving her brother a bored look. “Tuff…The guy has an armada with him at all times. I’m _pretty sure_ he was able to sail away.”

He frowned. “Oh. Right… Gotcha. Forgot about that.”

Thora quietly laughed, running her fingers through her hair. “Gods, ya have _no_ idea how much I missed hearin’ the two o’ ya squabble like that.”

An almost offended expression overcame Ruffnut. “‘Squabble’?” she repeated, tone haughty. “You call _that_ a ‘squabble’? _Please_.”

Tuffnut crossed his arms over his chest, also appearing quite affronted. “It’s like you don’t even _know_ us anymore, Thora! I’m quite hurt by your words…” He made a noise of disappointment and looked away. “Please…that was just a meager tiff.”

Thora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please do forgive me. My month in captivity must have addled my memory a wee bit.” Admittedly, she was relieved that the twins had yet to realize the predicament Dagur’s intervention had put her in.

Glad to hear Thora laughing again, Ruffnut hid a yawn behind her hand. “So, it doesn’t look like you’re much of a captive anymore,” she spoke through the yawn. “What’s up with that?” She tiredly rested her head against Thora’s shoulder.

“Well…Thanks t’ Dagur letting slip that I’m a healer an’ Völva-in-trainin’, I have a wee bit more freedom now,” she explained. “So, since then, I’ve been treatin’ all sorts o’ wounds an’ sicknesses. Not that I have much t’ treat them with; you’d fine more medicine in my satchel than ya would on the entirety o’ this place.” Again, she rolled her eyes, but instead of humor, there was irritation on her face.

“So, basically, you’re no longer _really_ a prisoner, but they’re keeping Death Dance locked away, which, in turn, prevents the two of you from escaping,” Tuffnut summed up. He didn’t bother to hide his yawn.

She nodded, resisting the urge to yawn herself; they were so damned contagious. “Aye. At least, she’ll be locked up until Dagur comes back in a day or two.”

“Why’s that?” Ruffnut questioned, her eyes closing. “Did he promise to free you or something?”

“Yeah. I mean, you said before the guy’s in love with you. Is he going to set you free in hopes that it’ll win your heart?” Copying his sister, he rested his head against Thora’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Er…Well, you’re mostly right.” Her brow rose and she looked down at the twins. “All you really need t’ know is that there is a sort-o’ plan t’ let me go free.”

Despite her eyes being shut, Ruffnut cocked a brow. “You’re hidin’ something from us, missy,” she murmured, her voice betraying her exhaustion.

Tuffnut nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and _you_ don’t hide stuff from _us_.” He tilted his head back, eyes opened once more and a brow raised as he quizzically stared at her. “You know you can tell us anything, right?”

“Yeah,” Ruffnut chimed in, frowning somewhat. “We know we’re not the most trustworthy friends at times, but dude. You’ve been held captive for a _month._ I’m pretty sure there’s some heavy stuff you want to get off your chest.”

A small, thankful smile came to Thora’s lips. “I know,” she quietly told them. “I know. But…This is somethin’ I need t’ keep t’ myself until it happens, alright? It’s honestly not because I don’t trust ya –if anythin’, I’m one o’ the few people who _does_ trust the two o’ ya.”

“If you say so,” Ruffnut murmured, still frowning. “But we _are_ here for you if you need us. Barf and Belch, too.”

Tuffnut nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah. I mean, if you told us where Death Dance is, we could probably spring you out of this place tonight if you wanted.”

Thora shook her head. “I appreciate it, but I can’t chance the two o’ ya gettin’ caught as well. I mean, I’ve already took a large risk comin’ out here.” She bit her tongue. “If Alvin were t’ find ya, I’m afraid o’ what he’d do.”

Tuffnut shrugged, leaning back against Barf and Belch. “Probably use us for the same thing he used you for: Training dragons.”

“Yeah, but he’d get irritated by us a _lot_ quicker,” Ruffnut snorted. “We irritate _everyone_.”

Again, Thora shook her head. “Still can’t risk it. I don’t want the three o’ ya gettin’ hurt on my account. Death Dance’s pen has armed guards at the entrance, an’ it’s fairly close t’ Alvin’s quarters. If he heard any sort o’ racket, he’d have us surrounded in an instant.” She sighed, tilted her head back and looking up at the dark sky. “Even with two dragons, the area’s too small for them t’ maneuver, makin’ them practically useless. Toothless an’ Hookfang could fight in there, but not our dragons.”

“You totally Hiccupped just now,” Tuffnut told her, his voice dry.

She frowned. “Hiccupped…? What?”

“You Hiccupped,” Ruffnut replied. “Hiccupped definition: To dash one’s hastily-thought out plans with logic and selflessness.”

“In example: Fishlegs Hiccupped by pointing out the weaknesses of the Screaming Death, electing to stay behind as bait after he came up with a better plan.”

She cocked her brow. “Does Hiccup know you’ve turned his name into a verb?”

“His name was _always_ a verb,” Ruffnut snorted, “we just made it into a _better_ verb.” She grinned cheekily.

Rolling her eyes, Thora chuckled. “I’m still not sure he’d appreciate knowin’ about it,” she told them. “But, I got t’ admit, it’s true. He does seem t’ come up with plans that put _him_ in harm’s way more than the rest o’ ya.”

“Well, that’s what chieftain’s do.” Tuffnut closed his eyes, placing his hands behind his head. “Sure, he’s not chief yet –he’s still got a lot of years left before _that_ happens- but he’s Stoick’s heir. He’s constantly in training to be chief.”

“Which is why Stoick made him the head of the training academy,” Ruffnut added. “It gives him a sense of responsibility as well as gives him his first band of warriors to command. Not only that, but it’s also preparing us, as dragon riders, to follow under Hiccup’s command someday.”

“Not that it’s going so well. Between us, Snotlout, and having to save Berk every other week, Hiccup’s got quite the full plate and he’s having a rough time balancing it all.”

Thora was impressed. She knew the twins were more observant than they let on, but to know they had picked up on such details like the ones they mentioned? It was shocking, to say the least.

“Ya know, if the two o’ ya were more disciplined, you’d make amazing scouts or spies,” she told them. “As it is, the two o’ ya are just great mischief makers.”

Matching grins came to the twins’ faces. “We’d rather keep it that way,” Ruffnut replied. “We’ll leave the boring stuff to Astrid and Fishlegs.”

“Yeah. We plan on dedicating our lives to Loki anyway.” Again, Tuffnut yawned.

Thora frowned; Gothi had told her about the sorts of lives lived by those who dedicated themselves to one god entirely. Followers of Loki had the most chaotic of lives, filled with great accomplishments and, sometimes, even greater losses. They were passionate about whatever it was they set their minds to, but that passion came with a cost.

She didn’t want that sort of life for the twins, but she knew she would never be able to sway their minds. Instead, she offered them a simple warning.

“The path o’ Loki is a treacherous one,” she spoke. “I know the two o’ ya already know that, but I just want ya t’ know that it may seem fun now, but later on, you may regret it once Loki begins taking his dues.”

Just as she expected, the twins blew raspberries at her. “We’ll be fine,” Tuffnut assured her.

“Yeah, plenty of people in our family have dedicated themselves to a god,” Ruffnut continued, “and they all came out just fine. …Except Uncle Gunnar. He lost an eye.”

“Follower o’ Odin?”

“Nope. Iðunn,” they chorused.

“Lost it when he went to pick his apples,” Tuffnut finished, seeing Thora’s confused look. “A branch broke and got him right in the eye.” He shrugged before yawning a third time. “Man, I’m tired…”

Thora sighed, feeling exhaustion beginning to overcome her as well. “I should probably get back t’ the village. If I don’t get back soon, Logmar may come lookin’ for me…”

Ruffnut frowned. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want us to try and get you out of here?”

“Positive. With us this tired, it’d just make things even riskier.” She stood up, brushing off her backside. “I’ll try t’ come out here again tomorrow, maybe with food if I can manage it. I don’t know if the two o’ ya brought any with ya…”

“We managed to steal some earlier,” Ruffnut grinned. “There was an Outcast guy fishing on the other side of the island, so we stole his satchel of food when he fell asleep.”

“Turns out, Outcast food gives Ruffnut gas,” Tuffnut frowned. “Be glad you guys were _up_ wind, because not even Barf’s gas smells _that_ bad. Ouch!” He rubbed his arm where Ruffnut had hit him.

Laughing, Thora shook her head. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she commented. “Now…really, I need t’ get back. The three o’ ya had best keep yourselves layin’ low or I’ll personally come up here an’ kick your asses, alright?”

The twins grinned, though their eyes betrayed their fatigue. “Yes, mother dearest.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be a *much* longer chapter, but as it started nearing 30 pages, I decided to break it up into two chapters. So, chapter 16 is relatively short, being only about 9 pages, but I think, in the long run, it'll help things flow better and make 17 less overwhelming to read. It'll be up within the next few days :)
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoyed this short chapter~! If you did, please leave a kudos or comment <3 Oh, and I hope those who are able are enjoying the latest season of Race to the Edge, which came out today! I won't have a chance to see it for a few days yet, but I hope it's good!


	17. 17

When Thora awoke late the next morning, it was to a lot of commotion. At first, she thought that maybe the twins had been found and captured. Biting her tongue, she sat upright and closed her eyes, concentrating on listening to the shouting outside. A sigh of relief soon left her mouth; the Outcasts were just yelling orders to get the place in tip-top shape.

‘Wonder what’s going on?’ she thought, leaning against the wall. She plucked up her comb –a present left behind by Dagur- and started the tedious task of fixing her hair. ‘Maybe the Skrill hurt someone? No. They would have gotten me if that were the case. Hm…Maybe it escaped, though? If it can fire lightning, no doubt it’d be able to melt the bars to its cell?’

By the time she had most of it combed through and braided, the ruckus outside had died down. She was finishing up her final braid when the door opened and Savage’s silhouette appeared. Frowning, she quickly stood up and crossed her arms.

“Odin’s undies, does no one ‘round here know how t’ knock?” she demanded.

He ignored her. “Dagur an’ his fleet will be here in less than hour,” he told her. “Alvin demands you be present in the arena at that time.” Before she had a chance to respond, he slammed the door shut, making her cringe at the loud noise.

With a sigh, Thora rolled her eyes. “O’ course he does….Bein’ polite isn’t somethin’ Alvin does.” Sliding down the wall to the floor, she started to finish her hair. “At least now I know why there was all that action earlier…Dagur’s arriving a lot sooner than I expected. I thought he’d be another week, at the earliest.” With a sigh, she shifted her position so that she was sitting cross-legged. “Whatever keeps the Outcasts too busy t’ go lookin’ outside their perimeters an’ away from the twins…”

As she started to braid the final chunk of hair, she paused and musingly stared at it. Her brow rising, she made quick work of unbraiding all of her hair only to start re-braiding it again, though it was different in both style and method.

‘Maybe by doing this, Dagur will think I tried to gussie up for him and be more eager to get me and Death Dance away from Alvin,’ she thought, her nose scrunched up in concentration. ‘So long as he doesn’t think I want him to take me to his bedchamber again…’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘Even if the bed _was_ comfortable…’

When she finally finished with her hair, she tucked the comb away and left her room. Stepping out into the overcast day, she stretched, using it as a way to glance at the cliffs surrounding the Outcast camp. She could see no sign of the twins, bringing her a bit of relief. Heading for the kitchens, she had full intention on filling her, by then, growling stomach.

But she was not in luck.

“If ya wanted breakfast, ya should’ve woken up earlier!” the head cook barked, smacking the back of her hand when she tried to take a small loaf of bread. “You’ll get your fill o’ food at the feast. Anyway, look at ya!” He roughly jabbed the spoon into her stomach, making her wince. “I wouldn’t exactly say you’re wastin’ away there!”

Knowing it would be a useless fight, she said nothing –though her displeasure was all too evident on her face. The cook laughed as she sulked away, still rubbing the sore spot on her stomach.

“Jackass,” she muttered, glaring over her shoulder. She looked down at her stomach, still frowning. “It’s not my fault my body’s weird…” Shaking her head, she started heading for the arena.

Even though she passed by many Outcasts, barely any of them said a word to her; that was fine with her. Most of the Outcasts were just as bad as Savage and Mildew, though there were a few gems like Logmar and, surprisingly, Snorri. It was him who had convinced Alvin to give her a proper room, as small as it was.

‘Thanks to them, I’m positive the gods don’t _entirely_ hate me,’ she thought, waving at another one of the nicer men as he hurried past.

He was carrying a heavy-looking chest, making it impossible for him to wave back, but he did nod in acknowledgement.

Coming into the open area near the arena, Thora let out a sigh. Before her lay the ocean and its open horizon; the sight beckoned to her, filling her with a desire to fly off towards the sun. Not even noticing the tens of ships making their way towards the island, she leaned against the wall and a small, longing smile came to her lips.

‘Soon, I’ll be able to get out of here,’ she thought, watching as some birds soared through the skies. ‘And Death Dance will be able to stretch her wings for the first time in forever…I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to get out there again. I’m sure she’ll be even happier to get home and visit with Stormfly and Meatlug before eating herself into a fish-coma.’ She quietly laughed at the thought.

The first ship of the armada was docking, letting her know she should probably get to the arena before Alvin threw a fit. Why he even wanted her there, she didn’t know.

‘Probably as proof to Dagur that I’m alive and unhurt,’ she thought, walking towards the enormous, metal dome. Ducking under one of the bars, she crawled through before climbing down the wall, ignoring any stares she was receiving. As her feet hit the ground, Savage came running in.

He froze upon seeing the Skrill at the far end of the arena, but he swallowed hard and moved closer to Alvin. He flinched as Alvin barked out an order, but straightened when the chief took notice of his movement.

“What’s got ya so jumpy?” Alvin demanded of Savage, his brow raised.

“N-nothin’, sir,” replied the lieutenant. “Just anxious is all.” Thora could see him warily eyeing the Skrill; as he did so, he subtly rubbed a burn mark on his arm.

Alvin didn’t seem convinced, but he turned his attention towards Thora as she drew nearer. “Good. You’re ‘ere.”

Leaning over slightly, Thora stared past him as the gate to the Skrill’s cage was lifted. “Why are ya bringin’ that thing out? It’s just goin’ t’ shoot everyone with lightning!”

He rolled his eyes. “Because, like ya, Dagur wants t’ make sure it ‘asn’t been ‘urt in any way an’ that I really ‘ave it in my possession.”

Her brow rose. “I am _not_ your possession.”

“You’re my captive, aren’t ya?” He glared at her. “Means you’re in _my_ possession. Now go stand over there.” Turning to face the dragon, he jabbed his thumb in the direction he wanted her to go.

Sighing, she had little choice but to do as she was told. She stood against the wall, her hands behind her back as she waited for something to happen. Every once in a while, she would cringe as the Skrill shot a bolt of lightning upwards, praying that the bolt wouldn’t somehow find its way towards her.

She soon heard footsteps approaching and looked to the gate. Mildew came in, leading Dagur and a group of well-armed Berserker warriors towards Alvin. Dagur’s eyes lit up at the sight of the thrashing Skrill, a broad grin spreading across his lips. It was then Thora realized why the dragon had looked so familiar:

It was the emblem of the Berserker tribe.

‘Oh, that is _not_ a smart move, Alvin,’ she thought, a small smirk appearing on her lips. ‘Using the figurehead of a rival tribe as blackmail to get them to help you? I’m surprised Dagur hasn’t killed you yet!’ She jumped, thunder clapping overhead. ‘Lovely…a storm’s coming.’

“The Skrill!” Dagur cried, still gawking at the dragon. “So beautiful!” His grin only broadened as the dragon used its tail to send one of the Outcasts flying through the air. “So supple…So _furious_ …”

Mildew grumbled, rolling his eyes in displeasure. “The only thing a dragon understands is a staff to the snout.” He raised his staff, ready to strike the disobedient dragon, but Dagur suddenly grabbed the stick.

“Touch him with that stick and I’ll make you _eat_ it,” he threatened, a snarl on his face. He shoved Mildew backwards before turning back towards the dragon. “You have _no_ idea what you’re dealing with, do you?” He smirked, staring the creature in the eye; he could already feel their connection. “Because if you did, you’d have this dragon safely _out_ of the storm.”

Mildew grumbled, resting his weight on his staff. “An’ just why is that?” he spat. He recoiled as Dagur suddenly span around, looming over him threateningly.

“He draws his power from lightning,” he barked. Then, getting a whiff of Mildew’s body odor, he scrunched his nose up in disgust. “Smelly old man…”

“Bah!” Mildew waved his hand dismissively. “That’s nothin’ but an old dragon’s tale.”

The heavens were ripped apart for a split second as a bolt of lightning shot down to earth. The Skrill reared back, roaring at the sky. The lightning raced towards it, striking the dragon full-force and covering its body with tiny tendrils of power. Opening its mouth, the Skrill shot a smaller bolt of lightning, hitting Mildew and sending him flying backwards.

Thora cringed, instinctively taking a step forward to go help the man, but she bit her tongue and stopped herself. Part of her told her to leave him be, that he had done more than enough throughout his life to deserve the strike. The rest of her, however, won and she went over to the old man, kneeling down and helping him to sit up.

Dagur, however, was chuckling. “Man, I love it when I’m right,” he murmured, watching as the Outcasts began dragging the Skrill back into its cage.

“Alright, Mildew…How many fingers?” Thora sighed, getting the old man to stop wobbling. She held up two of her fingers, watching as his eyes focused on her hand.

But then he realized who was talking to him and he pushed her away. “Egul dibsma que!” he snapped, reaching for his staff. “Dibble jankshu trankti! Ugh.”

Her brow rose, watching as he stood up and started to hobble away. “Huh…Same thing happens t’ Snotlout when he gets struck by lightning…” Standing up, she brushed off her knees before looking at Dagur. He was following the Skrill as it was it was taken into its cage. ‘He is really fixated on that dragon,’ she thought, brows furrowing. ‘That can’t be good…Gods, please don’t let him try to train it –or, rather, please don’t let him _succeed_ in training it.’

She was brought out of her thoughts by a snickering Alvin. “Jealous?” he questioned through his laughter.

“What reason would I have t’ be jealous?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “Let alone o’ a _dragon_?”

“Because your lover boy is payin’ more attention to it than ‘e is you,” he sneered. “’E ‘asn’t even thrown ya one glance since ‘e got ‘ere!”

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “Gee, I wonder if it’s because there’s a large, lightning-spewin’ dragon here with us?” she retorted. Before Alvin had the chance to speak again, she walked away. She bit her tongue as she drew closer to Dagur and the Skrill, her heart starting to race at the sight of the dragon. “Dagur?” A quiet yelp left her mouth as he suddenly hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against him as he continued to stare at the dragon.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he questioned, still smirking. “Look at its powerful muscles, its strong jaws, its sharp wings! Augh, it’s almost as gorgeous as you are.” Finally glancing up at her, he winked before looking at the dragon once more. “Just think of it, beautiful: Once we get this Skrill harnessed up, it’ll be free to strike _anyone_ it wants.” A quiet, dark laugh left his mouth. “Or, more precisely, anyone _I_ want.” He started cackling and Thora forced herself to let out a small laugh.

“Ah, the Skrill isn’t yours _yet_ , Dagur,” Alvin grunted, coming over. “You’ll get your prize, but only _after_ you fulfill the terms o’ our deal.”

Dagur flashed him an innocent smile, only for it to quickly turn into a look of boredom. With his arm still around Thora’s waist, he started to walk away. “Ugh. Just wait until I get that Skrill harnessed,” he murmured.

“What sort o’ deal did the two o’ you make?” she questioned, brow rising. “It has t’ be somethin’ good if it involves ya gettin’ that dragon.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he replied. “Now, where’s somewhere quiet where you and I can have a little chat?”

Her brow remained raised as she found herself unconvinced by his words. What sort of deal would involve Dagur getting a Skrill? “Well, er…my room’s nearby. There’re not many other places coming to mind.”

Dagur grinned. “That sounds _perfect_. Lead the way!”

Wondering what in the world he wanted to talk about, Thora led him to her room, where she apologized for the smallness of it. He merely shrugged and took off his helmet. Telling his men to guard the door, he entered behind Thora.

“It’s ah…cozy,” he commented as she sat down on her cot.

“It was a storage closet.” She watched as Dagur took a seat beside her, stretching out his legs only to cross his ankles. “So, er, what did ya want t’ talk about?”

A lazy smile came to his lips as he closed his eyes. “How has Alvin been treating you?”

“Well enough. We’ve gotten in a couple o’ fights, but all o’ them were just words.” She then let out a small laugh. “Forced him t’ take a bath a few days ago.”

“I was wondering why there was an oil slick three miles wide,” he joked. He then frowned, cracking open an eye to look at her. “But he hasn’t _hurt_ you at all?”

Shaking her head, she bit her tongue. She knew she should curl up against him or try to nuzzle him to keep up her charade, but she was wary of _what_ she should do after the incident earlier in the week. ‘I don’t think he can get any ideas like _that_ today,’ she told herself. ‘Now if he’s here for some sort of treaty ceremony or whatnot…’

Feigning a sigh of content, she decided to shift her positioning so that she rested her head against his shoulder. She felt him wrap his arm around her shoulders, fingers lightly stroking her arm. It would have felt nice if he had been anyone _but_ Dagur the Deranged; so, instead, it felt strange.

“Hasn’t hurt me at all,” she finally answered. “I’m sure he’s wanted to plenty o’ times. Mildew’s tried t’ smack me a time or two, but I knock his staff away before he could.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, burying his face in her braids. “How long has Alvin had the Skrill?”

She closed her eyes. “Since ‘bout midnight…He thought I may know somethin’ ‘bout it, so I had to go check it out.”

His brow rose. “…And _do_ you know anything about it?” he asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Only that it’s ornery and likes hittin’ people with lightning.” Raising her hand, she started to absentmindedly toy with the buckle of his spaulder strap. “Even if he was Hel-bent on keeping it, I don’t think he’d be able t’ tame it. He’s not… _gutsy_ enough for the job. You, on the other hand…”

Dagur let out a quiet laugh, his brow rising. “My, my…someone’s gotten more confident in me since I left,” he teased. He lowered his voice and moved his mouth closer to her ear. “I _like_ that.”

She shuddered as his warm breath moved past her skin, but thankfully, he mistook it for a shiver of enjoyment. “Well, it’s just the truth,” she continued, trying to remember how she had flirted with him a week ago. “After all, Alvin’s an old man. He prefers t’ hide behind his men, lettin’ them do the dirty work. You, though…”

Tilting her head back, she alluringly smiled (at least, she _hoped_ it looked that way) at him. Her hand moving from the buckle to his cheek, she let her fingers lightly drag along his skin; she was surprised to feel the beginnings of stubble along some parts of his jaw. “You’re a _true_ chieftain…willin’ t’ put yourself on the front lines an’ fight _alongside_ your men…”

“Well of course!” he scoffed, a frown overtaking his earlier grin. “Any _real_ leader would be up front, _leading_ their soldiers into battle. Only cowards stay behind the line.” He shook his head, grumbling about cowards.

Wanting to change the subject, Thora shifted slightly so that her back was against him. “So, why did ya have t’ leave me here for a week?” she asked. “Ya said somethin’ about business…?”

“Ah, yes. Some of the whale-hunters from my village had spotted the Skrill frozen in ice up north,” he explained, “so I sent a few of my men to go fetch it for me while I went back to Berserk. Clearly, though, they didn’t succeed in their task.” He frowned, glaring death at the wall across from them. Suddenly, his expression changed to one of surprise. “Oh! That reminds me…” Leaning forward, he reached behind him only to pull out a wooden box. He held it out to her.

Thora frowned. “Where in Midgard were ya hidin’ that?” she questioned, brows furrowed as she hesitantly took the box. “Do ya got an enchanted asshole back there or somethin’ I don’t know about? Because it sure seems like it some—Oh gods, did I just really say that?” She had been unable to stop herself from blurting out the question and she instantly regretted it. Her cheeks turning dark red, she bit her tongue and shrank back, expecting him to become enraged.

Dagur stared at her, dumbfounded. Then, to her great relief, he burst into a cackling fit that nearly toppled him over. “Oh, Thora! How you slay me with your jokes!” He wiped away a tear of mirth. “An enchanted asshole! That’s a good one!” Still chuckling, he shook his head and pulled off his belt.

His laughing suddenly ceased as he showed her the inside of the leather, a solemn expression on his face. “I have special sheathes built into it so that I can carry an assortment of supplies or weapons with me,” he explained.

“O-Oh…” she murmured, surprised to see there was, indeed, a logical solution. “That makes sense, actually…” Looking down at the box, she tucked one of her braids behind her ear. “So, this is…?”

“A gift.” Dagur grinned expectantly, his eyes flitting between her face and the box. “Consider it a sort of early wedding present.”

Her cheeks darkened greatly. “Er, a-an early wedding present?” she stammered, taken aback. “B-but, that’s still _years_ away!”

He shrugged and waved dismissively. “Do you _really_ think that matters to me?” he questioned. “After all, it’s my job as your fiancé-” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows as he said the word ‘fiancé’- “to spoil you with love _and_ riches.”

Thora squeaked as he abruptly reached over and grabbed her waist. Pulling her onto his lap, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and protectively wrapped his arms around her torso.

“And since I’ve already begun to spoil you with my love,” he murmured, breath hot against her skin, “I figured it was time to start with the riches.”

Thora shuddered again, her eyes somewhat closing; she couldn’t tell if she had enjoyed or hated the heat of his breath just then. “Y-ya really shouldn’t have,” she murmured, cheeks still flushed.

“You’re so modest!” he laughed, leaning back and looking up at her. He waved his finger at her in a scolding fashion. “We really need to work on that. You’re going to become a powerful witch and queen soon, neither of which is _modest_. Now.” He motioned to the still-unopened box. “Open your present. I’ve been waiting to see your reaction for the last three days.”

‘Please don’t be some sort of severed body part,’ she thought, biting her tongue as she slowly unlatched the box. ‘And, dear gods, please don’t let it be from one of his enemies…’ The hinges creaked with age as she opened it, revealing a velvet-lined interior.

Her jaw fell.

Carefully, she pulled the contents of the box out, holding it up to get a better look. It was a necklace of silver chain with clear, glass beads. The beads were graduating in size, with the ones in the center being the largest. Finely wrought silver designs were wrapped around the three largest beads. Thora knew the craftsmanship needed to make such a piece of jewelry would have made it cost a small fortune.

“Do you like it?” Dagur asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, eyes wide. She looked at him, baffled. “Where in the world…?”

Taking it from her, he unclasped it. “It belonged to my grandmother,” he explained, setting it around her neck. “It was supposed to go to my sister, but…” A dark, sullen look passed before his face, lasting only a brief second. “With her gone, it now goes to my wife. Or fiancée, rather.” He clasped the necklace and adjusted it so that it sat right between her collarbone and chest; on a full-blooded human, it would have sat just level their chest. “There…Perfect.”

“D-Dagur, I can’t take this!” she stammered, looking down at the necklace. “It should stay with your family—at least, until the weddin’! What if somethin’ happens t’ me an’ it gets ruined or lost?” She unconsciously ran her fingers along the beads; it was absolutely _gorgeous_. Even if she _did_ plan on marrying him, she didn’t deserve such a thing –she was much too ugly for it. “I’m not…I’m not worthy o’ it…” Biting her tongue, she shook her head, moving to take it off. “Dagur, I can’t-”

He gently grabbed her hands, stopping her. “Now why would you say such a silly thing like that?” He frowned when he saw her eyes filled with uncertainty; did she not like it? “If you don’t like it…”

“No!” she instantly replied, eyes wide. “No, it’s beautiful an’ I love it. I really do! But…” She looked down at it once again. “Dagur, even though I’m goin’ t’ marry ya, we hardly know each other. This necklace belonged t’ your grandma, so it should really stay in your family until we either know each other better or-” She blinked, falling silent as Dagur pressed a finger to her lips.

He still wore a frown, but there was determination on his face. “You are absolutely right,” he told her. “We _don’t_ know each other very well! But, that’s alright, because we _will_ get to know each other when we’re finally married.” A broad grin spread across his lips and his tone became lighthearted and enthusiastic. “We’ll learn each other’s favorite colors, each other’s favorite foods, each other’s favorite weapons…Just give it some time and, before you know it, we’ll know one another better than butter knows bread!”

“Well, then…can I at least know one thing before I go t’ my brothers?” she asked, voice quiet.

Dagur cocked a brow. “Alright,” he replied, a bit of bewilderment in his voice. “What would that be?”

“Why me?” She looked him in the eye. “O’ all the women in Midgard ya could have chosen for a bride, why _me_?”

Over the course of the next few minutes, she watched as a range of emotions passed over Dagur’s face. He said nothing, but she could see when he felt confused, when he felt confident, and when he felt baffled all over again. She was convinced he was trying to find a crafty way to say it was because of her troll blood –after all, it’s what made her stand out the most and it was certainly something he commented on frequently when he had visited Berk.

But then, he surprised her.

Rubbing the back of his head, Dagur glanced away, a sheepish look on his face. “At first, it was…well, y’know. The fact you’re half troll,” he admitted. “I could just picture you ripping out throats with your teeth and easily snapping your enemies’ backs! Having heard of your fight with Alvin and how you bit off his ear, I thought we were a match forged by Brokkr himself!” By now, he was wearing look of bloodlust and a wide, excited grin was on his lips.

His expression suddenly changed to one of utter disappointment. “But then, not only did you tell me you had a boyfriend, but that you were also a healer! My hopes of you and I fighting alongside each other in battle were destroyed.” He turned his gaze back to her, sourness in his eyes and voice. “Only _later_ did I find out that you had _lied_ about the boyfriend, but you have proven your healing capabilities multiple times.”

Thora managed to stop herself from flinching as he quickly raised his hands, but he merely cupped her face. His disappointment faded into tender adoration as he stared into her eyes once more. “Now, though…Now I’ve discovered that there are _other_ things about you to admire, even if I’ll never get to see you battle prowess.” His voice was soft and almost sweet as he used his thumbs to gently caress her cheeks.

“L-Like what?” she murmured, realizing that Dagur was slowly leaning closer to her. She was once again overwhelmed by the combination of cinnamon and clove, making her cheeks flush.

“You’re far more courageous than what most would people expect,” he quietly replied, letting one of his hands slip its way down the side of her neck and along her torso before wrapping around her waist. “And how _unusually_ altruistic you are…” He smirked, watching as Thora’s eyes slowly closed, her cheeks growing darker by the second. “Don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are…” By now, barely a hairsbreadth separated the two of them and his breath was hot against her mouth. “Or how your lips have this wonderful little pout, just _begging_ to be kissed…”

Just as he was about to press his lips to hers, there was a loud knock on the door. His lip curled back in a snarl and he glared up at the door. “What is it?” he growled.

Thora swallowed hard, sliding herself off his lap and onto the bed beside him as the door opened. One of his men poked his head in only to cringe as he saw the look on his chief’s face.

“Ah…The feast is ready, sir,” he answered. “Alvin is, ah, ready to hash out the details of the plan with you.”

“Thank-you,” Dagur retorted through clenched teeth. He would have said more, but the guard quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him. A heavy sigh left his mouth and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Good help is so hard to come by these days…”

“Well…er, shall we go then?” Thora suggested, her face still flushed. “Truth be told, I haven’t eaten today, so food sounds wonderful about right now!”

Dagur lightly grabbed her arm as she made to stand. “Actually, Thora,” he spoke quickly, “I think it best you stay _away_ from the feast. You know how Alvin and I butt heads now and then.” He looked concern as he gently pushed a braid over her shoulder, his eyes falling to the necklace around her neck. “In case things turn… _sour,_ I don’t want you getting caught up in it.”

She frowned. “But…I’m starvin’…” she murmured, watching as he stood up.

Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “I’ll have Fylkir bring you some food. Sound good? Good. I’ll see you in a few hours, beautiful.”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes and slumped back against the wall.

 

 

An hour later found Thora leaving the Outcast village, a plate of food in hand. Fylkir had brought her far too much and so, using the excuse of going to feed the rest to Death Dance, she had gone off in search of the twins. At first, Fylkir insisted on going with her. But when she had told him that she’d have to go through a tunnel filled with dangerous, wild dragons, he balked and agreed to stay behind.

‘Berserkers are brave in battle –but only if they’re surrounded by other Berserkers,’ she thought with a small laugh.

Scratching her neck, she froze in her steps when she felt the necklace around her neck; she had almost entirely forgotten about it. Now exposed to natural light, the clear beads picked up the greyish color of the clouds above, giving them a stormy look. ‘It’s even more beautiful in natural light…’

Unconsciously, her hand rose up, lightly touching her lips. Dagur’s breath had been so warm against them and, for a split second, she could smell his spiced scent again. A quiet sigh left her mouth and her eyes closed. Why did he have to smell so _good_ …?

She suddenly shook her head and continued walking, scolding herself.

‘No, Thora. Keep your wits about you.’ She thwacked herself with her tail, wincing; she didn’t realize her own strength. ‘You can’t give into him just because he smells good or because he gives you pretty trinkets. When you become a Völva, there will be _plenty_ of people who smell good and give you pretty trinkets in payment for your help. Are you going to go all wobbly-kneed for _them_ , too?’

Sighing, she used her tail to pull her hair to her back as she continued to scold herself. After a few more minutes of walking, however, she was stopped by a familiar, two-headed dragon.

Barf made an excited gurgling noise, leaning his head down and nuzzling her. Belch, though, clacked his jaws in happiness and lightly bumped her with his horn. Smiling, Thora petted them with her tail and free hand.

“Hey, guys,” she quietly laughed. “Ya don’t happen t’ know where your riders are at, do ya? I’ve got some food for them.”

At the mention of ‘food’ the dragons began sniffing at the plate of meat and vegetables only to snort in dissatisfaction. Regardless, they circled behind Thora and began taking turns nudging her in the direction she needed to go. Soon, they rounded a corner to find Ruffnut sitting against a long-dead Loki tree, Tuffnut nowhere in sight, and-

“Hiccup?” she gasped, seeing her cousin.

Startled by both her voice and sudden appearance, Hiccup gawked up at her, his eyes wide and his jaw slightly slack.

The plate of food falling from her hand, Thora ran forward and flung herself at her cousin. As her knees collided with the ground and skid across the rough surface, she felt her skin tear open, but she didn’t care. She latched onto Hiccup, who grabbed onto her in return.

“You have no idea how thankful I am to see you,” he murmured, giving Thora an extra squeeze. “I saw you down there, when everyone was in the arena…but I couldn’t believe it was actually you.”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face as she let out a choked laugh. “Who else could it have been?” she joked. “I don’t think the Archipelago has any other half-trolls runnin’ around!”

He laughed, rolling his eyes as he finally pulled back. “Very funny,” he replied. He looked her over, a frown soon coming to his lips. “Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Spotting her knees, his eyes widened. “Oh gods, your knees are bleeding!”

Dismissively waving, she sat on her hindquarters. “They’re fine,” she assured him. “ _I’m_ fine. At least, I am _now_. A while ago, not so much…but no, I’m not hurt, except for my knees.”

Ruffnut, who had crept over to the forgotten food on the ground and had salvaged what she could, cocked a brow as she returned to her spot. “Uh, aren’t Alvin and Dagur going to wonder why your knees are suddenly all scraped up?” she questioned.

“I’ll tell ‘em I tripped or somethin’,” Thora answered, taking the flask of water Hiccup handed her. She opened it and carefully dribbled the water over her knees, pursing her lips as it stung. “Alvin won’t care so much; he still pretty much wants me dead. If it weren’t for the fact tha’ I’ve healed most o’ his men o’ their various ailments by now, I’m sure he would have _actually_ beheaded me the second Dagur left.”

Hiccup frowned, his brow rising. “Alright, what’s been going on? You probably told the twins already, but I’m in the dark here.” He passed his bag to Thora, letting her dig through it for something to wipe off her knees.

As she tended to her knees, Thora regaled Hiccup with all that happened to her until then –leaving out, of course, certain parts pertaining to Dagur and their supposed engagement. Unlike the twins, though, Hiccup picked up on the problem she now faced.

“This isn’t good,” he spoke when she had finished. “You owe Dagur your life?!”

She nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. “I know. It’s not the best o’ situations t’ be in.” Glancing over at Ruffnut, she used her tail to lightly thwack the woman. “Don’t take such big bites! It’ll just give ya worse gas _an’_ a stomachache.”

“Wait, she _lying_ about Outcast food giving her gas?” Hiccup questioned.

“Nope!” Ruffnut chimed, a bit of chicken skin her face. “You’ll want to be up wind of me in about ten minutes.”

He groaned, smacking his forehead.

Looking around, Thora tried to find any sign of Tuffnut; the others hadn’t even brought him up. Frowning, she gave her knees a final rinse.

“Where’s Tuffnut?” she asked. “Did he get lost on his way back from relievin’ himself or somethin’?”

Hiccup shook his head. “He’s…ah…He’s spying on Alvin and Dagur for us.”

Thora’s eyes shot open. “ _WHAT!?_ ” she cried. “How could ya let him go down there by himself? This is Tuffnut we’re talkin’ about!”

Ruffnut pouted. “Oi! Just last night, you were sayin’ how we’d make good spies if we were more disciplined,” she scolded.

“Aye, but Tuffnut is _not_ disciplined!” She rubbed her face, worried. “Ugh, if Dagur hadn’t kept me out o’ the feast, I could have helped him if somethin’ went wrong…”

“Dagur didn’t let you go to the feast?” Hiccup asked, brow rising. “Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “He said somethin’ ‘bout wantin’ t’ keep me safe if things turned sour. I know better than that, though. They’re makin’ some sort o’ deal involving the Skrill. What sort o’ deal, I don’t know.”

Ruffnut offered Hiccup some of the Outcast food. “You can’t just go near the place and eavesdrop with your god-like hearing?”

“The feast hall is carved out o’ solid rock,” Thora replied, voice dry. “Even if I wanted t’, I wouldn’t be able t’ hear a thing.”

A quiet curse left Ruffnut’s mouth. “And here I thought you _could_ hear through walls.”

Hiccup sighed, taking one of the roasted chicken legs from her. “If she could, we would know by now,” he told her, managing a small laugh. 

A loud, strange gurgling noise came from Ruffnut, who was cringing in pain. “Oof, gotta go. My stomach’s about to unleash Ragnarök on this place…” She stood up and hurriedly shuffled away.

“Stay downwind!” Thora called after her. Shaking her head, she leaned back on her palms, watching her cousin eat. “…How’re da’ an’ Uncle Stoick?” she asked quietly.

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you really want to know?” Watching her nod, he sighed a second time, tossing the chicken bone over his shoulder. “Gobber’s not too good. As the days wore on, he started losing hope of you being found. Dad’s…pretty much the same, to be honest. He thinks you and Death Dance are at the bottom of the ocean, even though Gothi’s runes have explicitly stated that you’re alive, just in mortal peril.”

She bit her tongue, closing her eyes. “Oh gods…”

Scooting closer to his cousin, Hiccup gave her a tight squeeze. “I know you’re worried about them, but don’t worry. We’re going to get you home soon and they’ll return to their old selves.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Hiccup…When I get back, ya know I can’t stay long, aye? I’ve got t’ leave for the mainland soon.”

He frowned. “I forgot about that,” he admitted. “But, even if you’re only back for a few days, that should be enough to cheer them up! And, at least they’ll _know_ where you’re going this time.” He smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.”

“I hope…” She used her tail to brush a fly from her leg. “Maybe I should get da’ a new pet sheep?”

Hiccup chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Maybe.” He glanced around, making sure Ruffnut was still out of range before looking back to Thora. “How have you _really_ been?” he questioned. “I see some new scars on your legs and you look exhausted.”

She bit her tongue. “T’ be completely honest…I was scared for my life until Dagur saved me. After that…it hasn’t been bad.”

“Why didn’t you just tell them you were a healer in the first place?”

Shrugging, she leaned over and rested her head atop his. “I didn’t think o’ it at the time,” she confessed. “I was just tryin’ t’ survive all those encounters with the dragons. An’ then, when I was allowed t’ stop, I was too exhausted t’ do much else besides eat an’ sleep.” She closed her eyes, feeling Hiccup give her another squeeze. “But then along came Dagur.”

“And he convinced Alvin to not kill you by telling him you were a healer?”

“An’ that I was goin’ t’ be his queen, so if Alvin killed me, Dagur would raze this place t’ the ground.” She let out a heavy sigh.

“Make sense,” Hiccup admitted. “He’s in love with you, so he’d want to keep you safe.”

“I’ve been usin’ his feelings against him.”

He blinked, turning his head and looking at his cousin, bewildered. “Uh…what?”

“Dagur…” She ran a hand over her braids. “I’ve been usin’ his feelings for me against him.”

“How?”

“I’ve kind o’ tricked him into letting me go.” Before Hiccup could ask how, she pulled her knees to her chest. “Once he gets the Skrill, he plans on gettin’ me from Alvin. At that point, he’ll let me go back t’ Berk, where I can get my things an’ then head t’ the mainland.”

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. “I suppose this comes at a cost to you…?”

She nodded, cheeks turning dark. Her fingers unconsciously rose up and felt the necklace once more. “I…I may have told him I might marry him when I come back.”

“WHAT!?”

Thora cringed, instinctively covering her ears. “I didn’t say I _would_ marry him!” she quickly added. “Just tha’ I _may_!”

Hiccup shook his head, biting his lower lip as he ran his hand through his hair. “Why would you do _that_?” he demanded suddenly, half-glaring at her. “He’s our _enemy_ , Thora!”

“I know he is!” she retorted, defense in her voice. “But, until now, he was also my _only_ hope o’ gettin’ out o’ here. If somethin’ similar happened t’ Astrid or Ruffnut, I’m sure they’d do the same.”

“It’s hard to say…But, at least with me and the twins here now, you won’t have to rely on him to get you out of here.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. We don’t know what’s goin’ on at the feast yet.”

“Well, we know it involves the Skrill and that means it can’t be good.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Part of me wants to sneak down there myself, but I know they’d recognize me.”

Nodding, Thora lightly tapped her bloodied knee, seeing if it was beginning to scab over yet. “You always were a bit impatient,” she quietly chuckled. “When I go back in a bit, I’ll try t’ find out some information, too. Dagur trusts me fairly well, so I think he’ll let _somethin’_ slip.”

Hiccup raised his brow. “Yeah, but how will you let us know anything you find out? I’m fairly certain he won’t let you out of his sight so easily.”

She dismissively waved her hand. “I’ll just tell him I have t’ perform some sort o’ ritual in private. With how small my room is, he’ll probably believe me.”

He nodded in understanding. “Just…don’t do anything risky, alright? Even if you’ve got Dagur’s protections, he’s unstable. I’m worried what he’ll do if he finds out you’re playing him.”

“He could have killed me on Dragon Island an’ he didn’t, even when he _knew_ I was still on your side. I don’t think he’d hurt me.”

“ _You_ don’t think that, but _I_ do.” He set his hand on her shoulder. “I just want you to be careful. You’re in a dangerous position here; I don’t want to bring you back to Berk in a funeral ship.”

Lightly patting the back of his hand, she gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be careful, I promise.” She glanced over her shoulder as Ruffnut came climbing back over the boulders, a mixture of pain and relief on her face.

“I wouldn’t go over there if I were you,” she warned, plopping down on the ground. “It is _not_ pretty.”

Hiccup and Thora cringed. “Ah…thanks for the warning. I wasn’t planning on going over there, but now I’ll be sure to avoid it,” murmured the former.

Thora ran a hand over her braids. “I should probably get back t’ the village. Don’t want t’ be gone too long, after all, especially since it’ll be hard tellin’ how long the feast will last.”

Ruffnut frowned. “Aw, man…I just got back, too…”

Giving her a small smile, Thora nudged her with her tail. “Don’t worry. Once I’m out o’ this place, we’ll talk more. Sound good?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ruffnut told her, crossing her arms sternly. “I miss talking with you because you tell me all the gross details about healing people.”

“Oh gods, will I ever have the horror stories for ya after this!” she laughed. “The very first wound I treated here was a guy who had a bad spider bite. I could see through the different layers o’ skin an’ muscle it was so bad!”

Ruffnut’s eyes were wide in wonder. “Cool!”

Hiccup, however, did not appreciate the description. “Alright, that’s enough information for now. Wait until I’m out of the area to talk about that sort of thing, will ya?”

Thora chuckled, rolling her eyes as she stood up. “I’ll be sure you’re far out o’ hearin’ range,” she told him. “Stay safe, ya two. If I see Tuff, I’ll try t’ keep him out o’ trouble.”

“Good luck with that. Trouble is his middle name,” Ruffnut snickered as Thora started off.

 

Within half an hour, Thora was walking back into the village. Her knees stung as she walked, but the pain was fairly mild. Still, she scrunched her nose up and looked down at her legs only to wipe away a spot of dirt she had missed earlier. She made for her room, intending to properly clean and treat her wounds.

‘They shouldn’t take much,’ she thought. ‘Just a dab or two of lavender and they’ll be good to go. No point in bandaging them…’

As she walked, she noticed how eerily quiet the village was when most of its residents were in the feast hall. She could hear faint bouts of laughter as well as soft growls coming from the Skrill as it remained caged. When she came nearer to her room, though, the silence was abruptly broken as the laughter left the feast hall. Her brow rising, she bit her tongue and decided to go investigate.

‘They weren’t laughing when I left,’ she thought. ‘I wonder what made them get in better moods? …Who am I kidding? They’re probably drunk.’ She paused in her steps, biting her tongue. ‘Should I really go searching for them if there’s a chance they’re all drunk? I’m the only female on the island…’

She then shook her head, a look of determination coming to her face. ‘No. Dagur won’t let that happen.’ Her nose scrunched up at the thought. ‘I can’t believe I just thought _that_ …’

Going round a corner, she suddenly stopped, her eyes wide. Coming towards her was Dagur and his men, along with the Outcasts –but Dagur had his arm thrown around Tuffnut’s shoulders. He didn’t seem at all hurt or worried about his predicament; in fact, he was cracking jokes.

“Alright, alright…So, what do you get if you put a Hooligan and a Berserker in the same room?” Tuffnut questioned.

“What do ya get?” one of the Outcasts asked.

“A freshly painted room! ’Cause the Berserker totally _annihilated_ the Hooligan!” he snorted.

Dagur laughed the hardest. “It couldn’t be more true!” he cackled. He paused suddenly, having spotted Thora standing ahead of them. “Unless, of course,” he spoke, a wide grin coming to his face, “the Hooligan happens to be my lovely Thora.” Unwrapping his arm from Tuffnut, he beckoned to Thora.

Biting her tongue, she hesitantly stepped forward. “I was wonderin’ when you lot were goin’ t’ be finish,” she told him, letting him snake an arm around her waist.

“My friend here kept us entertained longer than we expected,” Dagur explained, motioning to Tuffnut. “Thora, have you had the pleasure of meeting Buffnut yet?”

Her brow rose. “ _Buffnut_?” Meeting Tuffnut’s gaze, he merely smiled cheekily at her. “I don’t think so…”

“Turns out, I had a wonderful bard amongst my warriors!” Dagur laughed, heartily patting Tuffnut on the back. “Buffnut, you should really sing that song for her –the one where I go a’Skrilling!”

Tuffnut’s cheeky grin turned into an awkward smile. “You know, Dagur, buddy, I’d just _love_ to, but I ah…I should really be getting to bed.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. “Y’know how it is; gotta _plenty_ of rest if I want to keep creating these jokes and songs.”

Dagur frowned. “I’m sure you could put off sleeping for just a _little_ while longer,” he replied.

Recognizing this as Tuffnut’s attempt to get back to the others, Thora set her hand on Dagur’s shoulder. “Actually, Dagur, I was, er…I was wantin’ t’ talk with ya. In private.” Her cheeks flushed red as she heard some lewd, whispered comments. She shot a glare in the direction of the whispers, hearing them stop abruptly. “I’m sure Buffnut can sing for us another time.”

His brow rising, Dagur wore a look of interest. “Oh? Well, then I guess he can run off to bed,” he shrugged. He flashed Thora a teasing grin before beginning to walk off with her. “Shall we head to your quarters then?”

“Er…actually, I was thinkin’ we could take a walk along the beach?” she suggested. “It’d be a nice change o’ scenery.”

“If you want to walk on the beach, we’ll walk on the beach,” he replied. Standing on tiptoe, he kissed her cheek. “Lead the way, beautiful.”

‘Oh gods, what am I supposed to talk with him about?’ she thought, biting her tongue as she led him through the village. ‘If I ask him about the feast, he probably won’t answer, unless it’s about the food or Tuffnut’s apparent bard skills…’ Glancing down at the Berserker, she raked her mind for an answer. ‘Our supposed wedding? No, that’d be getting his hopes up _too_ much.’ Biting her tongue, she continued to think.

“You know, the beach was a good idea,” Dagur commented some minutes later. There was a content smile on his lips as he looked out at the rough surf.

“Oh?” she questioned, glad he spoke first. She scrunched her nose up slightly as the wind whipped her braids about, making them smack her face. Using her tail, she corralled her hair and held it back.

He nodded. “Mhm. I always did love the way the ocean looked during rough weather.” He held his hand out, motioning at the turbulent waves as they crashed upon the rocky shore. “Look how powerful the water is! Nothing but solid stone can stand in its way, and even then, it manages to wear stone down to dust.” A sigh of admiration left his mouth.

Thora gazed out at the ocean as well, though the sight filled her with curiosity rather than wonder. Gothi had taught her to look for signs of coming change in nature, whether it be a sudden migration of animals or an oncoming storm. Closing her eyes, she let out a quiet sigh as she let the sound of the ocean fill her ears.

As loud and tumultuous as the waves were, it brought a strange sense of calm to her.

“This sort o’ weather usually means something’s goin’ t’ happen,” she told him. “I don’t yet know how t’ read the future yet, so I don’t know if it’s goin’ t’ be good or bad.”

“One person’s good is another person’s bad,” he replied, shrugging. A wicked smirk came to his lips. “Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, it’ll be _my_ good and _Alvin’s_ bad.” He let out a quiet cackle. Almost instantly stopping, he cocked his brow and looked up at Thora. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” he asked her.

“Oh! …Er, well…I wanted t’…” Biting her tongue, she latched onto the first thing she could think of. “I wanted t’ thank you!” she blurted out, cheeks turning red again.

“Thank me?” he questioned, brow rising. “Thank me for what? The necklace?” He chuckled. “You did that already, beautiful.”

Something in the distance caught Thora’s attention. Brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, she squinted in an attempt to get a better look at the thing only to panic: It was Toothless. What was he doing here?!

“N-Not the necklace,” she quickly told him. She draped her arms around his neck, positioning them so that he had his back to the dragon. “I-I wanted t’ thank ya for—for everythin’ else.” Glancing past him, she could see Barf and Belch hurrying after Toothless. ‘What are they doing…?’

“Everything else?” Dagur chuckled, setting a hand on her waist. His other hand reached up, brushing her cheek.

By now, Hiccup and the twins were running after their dragons, shouting at them as they dove into the surf. Thora was more than thankful that she could barely hear them over the noise of the waves; it meant Dagur couldn’t hear them at all.

Thora nodded. “Ya know, savin’ my life an’ convincin’ Alvin I was more useful alive than dead…” She pulled herself closer to him, doing her best to keep him from wanting to move. “Also, lettin’ me take a proper bath for the first time in forever…The necklace is just the berry atop the cake.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing quietly. “ _Please_. All that is _hardly_ worth commending,” he told her.

Barf, Belch, and Toothless came waddling out of the ocean, their heads tilted back as they swallowed something. ‘They were fishing!’ she thought. ‘Of course…food must be scarce for dragons here, especially ones that eat as much as those two!’

“Let’s keep walking, shall we?” Dagur suggested, making to pull away from her to continue walking. “I want to watch the ocean’s rage a bit—”

Thora panicked. With the dragons and riders still in sight, she knew she couldn’t let Dagur turn around. Grabbing his face, she pulled him back against her, kissing him. A few seconds passed and she pulled back to find Dagur wearing a rather silly grin. She swallowed hard, her cheeks dark with embarrassment.

“Wh-what was that for?” Dagur asked, his own cheeks turning a bit pink.

“You _saved_ my life,” she replied, keeping her voice just barely loud enough for him to hear. “I think that’s deservin’ o’ a _proper_ ‘thank-you’.”

The silliness left his face, replaced by a mixture of desire and delight. “Is that so?” he murmured. Thora gasped as he suddenly pulled her down for a second kiss, but thanks to a combination of her size and the pebbly beach, they ended up tumbling to the ground –somehow, though, the kiss wasn’t broken. This was completely fine with Dagur; he merely straddled her, pinning her between him and the earth.

‘This is _not_ what I had meant to happen,’ Thora thought, awkwardly kissing Dagur in return. Having never been kissed before, she wasn’t entirely sure what do to. Tentatively, she slid her arms around his torso, hugging him. ‘So long as he doesn’t see the others, then I guess it’s alright…?’

Dagur let one of his hands cup the back of her neck, gently forcing her head to tilt upwards. Unlike Thora, he didn’t feel the least bit awkward –in fact, this _wasn’t_ his first time snogging someone. It was, however, his first time doing it with someone who had tusks, which proved to be a bit difficult, as they acted as a sort of barrier between their faces.

“You have _no_ idea how long I’ve waited for that,” he murmured against her lips. He pulled back just slightly, finally ending the kiss.

“I-I can imagine,” she mumbled, timidly looking up at him. “Ya got quite upset with Fylkir interrupted earlier…”

A triumphant grin came to his lips as his free hand gently stroked the side of her face. “Noticed that, did you?” He kissed her a third time, but this time, he had no intention of pulling away.

‘Freya’s sacred garter, he knows what he’s doing…’ Thora thought, unconsciously gripping the back of his tunic. Dagur was, by now, dragging his lips along her jaw. With him distracted, she risked turning her head slightly to check on the dragons and riders. ‘Oh thank the gods, they’re go—’

A soft groan suddenly left her mouth as Dagur used the opportunity to start kissing along her neck. Having no idea her neck was so sensitive, she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. She soon gasped as he gently nipped the skin at the base of her throat –it didn’t hurt; rather, it felt _good_. Too good.

Biting her tongue, Thora knew she couldn’t let this continue. She gently pushed him back, cheeks dark and heart racing.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concern on his face as he looked down at her. His cheeks were flushed, but not nearly as much as Thora’s.

“T-too much, t-too s-soon,” she stuttered, glancing away shyly.

A look of realization came to his face and he pushed himself back. “S-sorry,” he murmured, pushing himself away. As Thora sat up, he looked away, rubbing the side of his neck as he let out a small, awkward chuckle. “Guess I did get a _little_ carried away there for a minute.”

“We…we should probably get back t’ the village,” she told him. “It’s startin’ t’ get dark an’ that’s when the wild dragons like t’ come out.”

He nodded in agreement, standing up and offering her his hand. She took it, not entirely surprised when he was able to easily help her off the ground. The two of them started walking back towards the village; Thora threw a cautious glance over her shoulder. No dragons were in sight or within hearing range.

‘Thank the gods…’ she thought, letting out a small sigh. ‘That was too close –on _both_ accounts. Ugh…I hope the others didn’t see that; otherwise, they’ll never let me live it down…’

“Thora? Did you hear me?”

She blinked, having not realized he had been talking. “Sorry, guess I zoned out a little there,” she chuckled. “What did ya say?”

“I was telling you how you’re a fairly decent kisser,” he told her, slipping his arm around her waist. There was a cocky smirk on his lips as he stared at the gate to the Outcast village.

Her brow rose. “Er, thanks…?” she murmured, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “It—” She paused, debating whether she should give him the satisfaction of knowing he was her first kiss. “It was my first one,” she finally admitted, knowing he’d find out one way or another.

He appeared genuinely shocked. “Really?” The surprise was almost instantly replaced by a smug grin. “Well, if I had known that, I would have put more effort into making it more _memorable_!” Cackling, he gave her a small squeeze before looking up at her and winking.

Feeling her cheeks grow hot yet again, she glanced away and ran over her braids. “Oh, trust me: It was _undeniably_ memorable…” she murmured.

As they came back within the village walls, they were greeted by the sight of Dagur’s men waiting patiently for his return. Also waiting for them was a pair of Outcast guards; they _weren’t_ so patiently waiting. Thora recognized both of them and cringed; they were a pair that had taken a special joy in verbally tormenting her when she had been in the dungeons.

“C’mon,” one of them grumbled, grabbing Thora’s arm and pulling her away from Dagur. “Alvin’s given the orders for you t’ remain in your room for the night.”

“Why’s—ow! Loosen up, will ya?—why’s that?” She growled, trying to twist her arm free.

“Didn’t say—” The guard froze, his eyes wide as he suddenly felt the blade of a sword at his neck. Glancing down, he saw a good portion of his beard falling to the ground.

Holding the sword was Dagur, who looked thoroughly enraged. “Is that any way to treat a woman?” he questioned, his voice eerily calm.

The guard swallowed hard, releasing Thora’s arm. “N-no, s-sir…” he stammered.

“If I’m told you handle my fiancée in such a way again, I _will_ remove more than your ugly beard. Got it?” His voice was dark and dangerous; it sent a shudder down everyone’s spines. With a flick of his wrist, he sheathed the blade, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Y-yes, s-sir,” the guard whimpered. He was painfully aware of his comrade slowly backing away from him.

“Now.” Dagur’s demeanor instantly changed again. He offered his hand to Thora, a pleasant smile on his lips as he looked at her and his voice chirpy. “I shall escort her to her room.” He then shot a glare at the two Outcasts. “ _You_ two may follow.”

With little choice left to her, Thora took Dagur’s hand and let him lead the way towards her room. Either due to him not knowing the village’s layout well yet or because he wanted to prolong their time together, he got them lost twice. She got them back on the right path both times and they finally reached her room.

“Remember,” he spoke as she opened the door, “if _anyone_ dares to manhandle you again, let me know and I’ll make sure they’re properly…reprimanded.” As he spoke, he shot a look at the two guards, who glanced at each other in fear. Turning his attention back to Thora, he smiled contentedly and walked her into the room. “I’ll see _you_ in the morning.” He took both her hands in his, slipping something between her palms.

Thora knew exactly what he had given her. Biting her tongue, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured when she was still close to his ear.

“Gods know I hope you won’t have to use it,” he murmured, catching her chin. He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth before taking his leave.

As the door clanged shut behind him, Thora could hear the two Outcasts moving to stand on either side of the frame outside. She bit her tongue and went over to her bed, her hands still clasped over the item. Finally parting her palms, she found herself looking at a sheathed knife.

‘Light handle, heavy blade…one of his throwing knives,’ she thought. Drawing it from the sheath, she flicked her thumb across the blade. ‘Well-sharpened. Scabbard’s oiled, too. He takes surprisingly good care of his weapons.’ Using the knife, she cut off a strip of cloth from each leg of her trousers, doing her best to make the cuts as even as possible. She then used the cloth to tie the knife to the inside of her forearm.

‘It doesn’t make sense that Alvin would have me locked up like this. He knows Dagur won’t leave without me _and_ the Skrill.’ She then smacked herself in the forehead. ‘Of course! He thinks I’m going to sneak out, free the Skrill, and go running off to Dagur with it!’ She couldn’t help but laugh at loud, earning a sharp bang on the door from one of the guards. ‘Does he think we’re _that_ dumb?!’

“Ain’t you supposed t’ be sleepin’, witch?” he called through the metal.

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to use a different tone with me?” she shouted back, humor in her voice. Hearing him fall silent, she chuckled, shaking her head.

‘Like I can sleep right now, anyway,’ she told herself. Situating herself so that she had her back in the corner of the room, she pulled the blanket around herself and tilted her head back. ‘Something still isn’t quite adding up, though. Why would Dagur give me a dagger _now_ and not on the day he saved me? Did he mean to, but Alvin stopped him?’ Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know…but I’m glad I have something _other_ than my fists and teeth to protect myself should something happen.’

Letting her eyes fall closed, she unconsciously hugged herself. She let her mind drift, trying to think of things _other_ than her captivity. Those thoughts, however, only sought to depress her; she began worrying about the sort of states she would find Gobber and Stoick in once she returned and how Gobber may force her to stay on Berk instead of going to the mainland. She also started to grow concerned about Gothi, wondering if the old woman had gotten sick at all while she was gone. It was as she was contemplating making the Völva a pot of yak noodle soup before leaving that sleep finally overtook her mind, ceasing her anxious thoughts for the time being.

 

~*~*~

 

It was still dark when Dagur left his ship. With a handful of his best men in tow and only the dying light of the city’s braziers, he crept into the Outcast village. They crept their way towards the arena, knocking any guards they found unconscious. Thankfully, there weren’t many –the feast the previous night had rendered many too drunk or overstuffed to attend their posts.

‘They really made this _too_ easy,’ he thought, his brow rising when they reached the arena. He glanced over his shoulder, nodding towards the entrance.

Three Berserkers ran forward and, doing their best to keep their grunts to a minimum, lifted the metal gate. As it slid into place in the stone above, Dagur walked past them, smirking. His eyes were fixed on the cell directly in front of him.

“I told you that you’d be mine soon,” he murmured to the sleeping dragon.

He suddenly held out his arm, preventing his men from going any further. Pointing to two of them, he then pointed up at the metal dome. They ran off, going to inspect the area for any possible patrolling guards.

“Do you have the fish?” he quietly asked of a third Berserker.

The man nodded, shrugging a basket off his shoulder.

“Good. Sven, Vorg. You two open the cage while Jarik and I distract it with the fish. When you’re done with that, I want you to muzzle the Skrill and bind its wings.” He glanced skywards, his eyes narrowing. There hadn’t been thunder or lightning for many hours, but he knew another storm was quickly approaching. “We don’t have much time to pull this off, so be fast, but be _efficient_. Do you understand?”

“Sir, what about the girl and her dragon?” Sven questioned. “Are you going to leave them here?”

Dagur’s brow rose as he turned, irritation on his face. “Do you honestly expect me to leave your future _queen_ locked up in a pathetic _broom closet_?” he loudly whispered. “Of course I’m _not_ going to leave her here!” Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his first prize of the day. “Let’s go.”

The group made their way through the arena, being sure to stay close to its walls in case of hidden archers. As they neared the Skrill, Dagur once more stopped them in order to pull out a large, whole haddock from the basket of fish. Holding it in front of him, he approached the Skrill with the confidence only a person missing a few brain cells could have.

The Skrill, having awakened the second it heard humans approaching it, growled quietly. Sniffing the air, however, the next noise came from its stomach – _not_ its mouth. When the haddock was tossed into its cage, it warily eyed the fish for a minute before hesitantly eating it.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Dagur chuckled, tossing a few more fish into the cage. He nodded towards the bars, Sven and Vorg darting forward to deal with their duties. As they broke the lock and let the gate slowly ease open, Jarik dumped the rest of the fish in front of the Skrill. “Go ahead and eat up, baby. You’re going to need that strength to decimate Alvin _and_ Berk.” He managed to keep his deranged laughter to a quiet chuckle.

The Skrill, exhausted and starving from its decades in hibernation, was too distracted by the feast before it to notice the ropes slowly tightening around its torso. It was only when it had finished the final fish that it realized something was wrong, as two of the men suddenly shoved a thick, leather strap around its mouth, pinning it shut. Shaking its head violently, it tried to shake the thing off, but it was to no avail. To make matters worse for it, it had no lightning built up in its system thanks to being out of the weather.

“Don’t worry, Skull Striker,” Dagur told it, gently patting it atop the head. “This is just a _temporary_ arrangement. Once we get you back to my ships, you’ll be properly harnessed and free to strike anyone we want.”

A soft noise of contempt left the Skrill’s mouth. Someone shoved its hindquarters, forcing it to start moving forward.

“Be gentle with it,” Dagur ordered. “Get it back to the ship, but don’t harness it _until_ I get there. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Vorg replied. “But, sir? Where are you going?”

“To get my bride.”

Before anyone else could ask him anymore stupid questions, he ran off. As he left the arena, he ran by the two scouts he had sent out, though he said nothing to them. The path to Thora’s room was easy for him to remember –at least, from _this_ side of the village. Nearing the area, he slowed his pace and kept himself fully submerged by the long, dark shadows of the cliffs.

‘Gods, I hope you haven’t had to use that knife,’ he thought, frowning as he came up behind a guard. Covering the man’s nose and mouth with his hand, he hooked his other arm around his neck, squeezing tightly. ‘I don’t even want to think about the sort of things Alvin’s done to earn the title ‘the Treacherous’, especially in reference to you, beautiful.’

The Outcast went limp, having fallen unconscious. Dagur dragged him into the shadows, effectively hiding him for now. Pressing himself against the wall, Dagur peered around the corner.

‘Unguarded?’ he thought, brow rising as he stared at Thora’s door. ‘Why would he make such a fuss only to have the guards not there?’ A dark thought passed through his mind and he ran forward. He found the door unlocked and he swallowed hard, opening it.

“Thora?” he whispered through the darkness. “You in here, beautiful?” Squinting, he attempted to will his eyes to see better in the pitch-black, but it was to no avail. He gritted his teeth and ducked back outside, snatching a nearby torch. ‘Gods, please let her be alright…’

Entering the room again, he found it empty, but there were signs of a struggle. The dirt floor was badly scuffed up and her blanket was in a heap near the door.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered. “I’ll kill him twice, if I find a single bruise on her body…”

_“THE SKRILL IS GONE! GET ALVIN!”_

His eyes suddenly widened and he spun around. The shouting was coming from the arena, but he knew the place would soon be flooded with Outcasts. Having no choice but to flee, he dropped the torch and ran back to his ships.

It didn’t take him long to get back to the harbor, where he ran up the gangplank to his ship. Shouting orders for the ships to be readied for battle and to be taken out of the port and into the ocean, where they had more advantageous positioning, Dagur made his way to Vorg.

His second-in-command was standing near the still-bound Skrill at the rear of the ship. He was eyeing the creature suspiciously. As his chieftain came near, however, he straightened his posture and let all emotion leave his face –until he noticed a distinct lack of half-troll and Boneknapper aboard the ship.

“Sir?” he questioned.

“It seems Alvin’s title is _quite_ fitting,” Dagur growled. He whipped around, grabbing the nearest Berserker by the neck of his tunic. “Bring me the Skrill’s harness!” he barked. He practically threw the man away from him before turning back to Vorg. “They have an advantage, being that they’re surrounded by all that rock, but if he really wants this Skrill for his invasion of Berk, he’ll meet us out in the open ocean.”

“Any other orders, sir?”

Dagur cocked his brow. “Yes. Have one of the ships loop around the island and enter the village through the beach postern. Have those men free the Boneknapper and search for Thora. I want her found _alive_ and _safe_ , do you understand?”

Vorg frowned; not entirely liking the idea of sending so many men into a potential death trap. “Sir, are you sure it’s…ah, _wise_ to risk so many men for one woman and her dragon? After all, Earl Ragnvaldr tried to do the same for Lady Bryna and she still ended up dead. There are so many other women on Berserk who would make fine wives for you, sir! Ladies Tyra and Vigdís are quite smitten-” He hissed in pain as Dagur grabbed the horn of his helmet, twisting him down to his level.

“Lady Bryna died before Ragnvaldr could reach her because she died in _childbirth_!” he snarled, watching as Vorg’s face quickly filled with fear. Growling, he thrust the man away from him, not caring when he fell to the deck. “Now do your job and give out my orders.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Vorg responded, hurrying past him to do just that.

Taking the Skrill’s harness as it was brought to him, Dagur knelt down and began to carefully fit it over the dragon’s head. Naturally, the Skrill tried to fight against him, though it was of little use; without the use of its wings or teeth, it was useless.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Dagur murmured, drawing a knife from his belt. He watched as the Skrill’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll be in the air again in no time.” Not wanting to bother with knots, he simply cut the ropes that held the Skrill’s wings before unbuckling the strap of leather binding its mouth.

Now free from most of its restraints, the Skrill roared at Dagur, knocking him backwards before taking to the air. Before it could fly away, however, two beefy Berserkers darted forward and snatched the ropes dangling from its collar. At first, it struggled against them, but soon gave up, realizing it had no choice but do their bidding.

“Keep it behind our sail,” Dagur ordered. “I don’t want Alvin to know we’ve got it in the air. And _don’t_ let it fire until I say so.”

The two men looked at one another, as if to say, ‘How are we supposed to do _that_?’

Dagur walked to the prow of his ship. By now, day was breaking, granting them more and more light to see with each passing minute. He glared at the horizon, the sunrise shielded by the storm clouds above.

His eyes suddenly narrowed as the figurehead of a ship poked its way around the entrance to the harbor, the rest of the ship quickly following. Within two minutes, the Berserkers were blocked off by the small fleet of Outcasts. Standing on the deck of the foremost ship was Alvin, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Goin’ somewhere, Dagur?” he demanded, his booming voice echoing across the water.

“Anywhere I please,” Dagur retorted, lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Not with our Skrill, you _don’t_!”

Dagur rolled his eyes. “It’s not yours! It was _NEVER_ yours! _Hello_!” He motioned at the area around him. “It’s on my belt buckle; it’s on my sail –my shields!”

“We ‘ad a deal, Dagur!”

“Yeah, uh…about that deal?” He let out a dark laugh. “I just changed those terms.”

“Then I guess I’ll just be gettin’ rid o’ this wretch then.” Alvin drew his sword and stepped aside, revealing Thora tied to the mast of his ship. She was awake and struggling a bit as he held the sword to her throat. “Ya might want t’ say your goodbyes, _boy_.”

He suddenly let out a curse as something slammed into his hand, making him drop the sword. Looking down, he saw one of Dagur’s throwing knives; glancing at the Berserker, he saw a smug grin on his face. “I’ll cut ya t’ pieces!” he roared, charging over to the other ship.

The men around Thora smirked, some of them stalking closer to her. She snarled through the gag around her mouth, making them laugh.

“Don’t you worry, little monster,” one of them cackled, smacking her in the gut with the butt of his ax. “Alvin will make sure your lover boy has a nice, long death for ya t’ watch. After that, he’ll probably be bored an’ make quick work o’ ya.” He made to smack her again, but the ax never met its target.

The crew watched as he dropped the ax and grabbed at his stomach. Blood oozed from his fingers and he staggered back, cursing in pain. Looking up, he watched as Thora pulled the gag off her head, her other hand holding the knife Dagur had given her.

“H-How did you get that?” he stammered, trying to reach for his dropped weapon.

She knelt down, grabbing it before he could. “Like I’d tell ya.” Using the flat of the blade, she smacked him across the face, knocking loose a few teeth and knocking him unconscious.

“Get her!” Savage shouted from the back of the ship. “She’s _just_ a healer, you can take her!”

A smirk came to her lips as she spun around, blocking a blow from an attacking Outcast. “Ya blokes do know I’m a _blacksmith’s_ daughter, aye?” she chuckled, kicking the man in the gut. As he staggered back, two more rushed to take his place. “I know how t’ use a bloody ax!” She side-stepped one of the two men, jabbing her elbow into his face. As the other took a shot at her legs, she threw herself backwards, slamming into another group of men and the ax flying out of her hand.

“Ha! I _knew_ someday we’d fight together in battle!” Dagur called from his ship. “This is glorious!”

Thora rolled her eyes and rolled off of the pile of Outcasts. One of them grabbed her ankle as she stood and pulled her feet out from underneath her. She cursed as her jaw hit the deck, but she kicked her leg back, feeling something snap under her foot –the man’s nose, probably.

Yanking herself free, she jumped to her feet and raced to the figurehead. By then, however, the ships had drifted apart. Frowning, she turned only to find Savage racing towards her, his club drawn. With no other choice left to her, she bit her tongue and readied herself for impact.

At the very last second, however, she jumped out of the way. A laugh left her mouth as Savage went barreling into the figurehead. She was about to take his club from him when there was a loud splash.

Looking out into the water, she could see Alvin trying to swim back towards his ship. Back on Dagur’s ship, Dagur had control of the Skrill and had it aimed right at the Outcast leader. Opening its mouth, the Skrill fired a bolt of lightning at Alvin, who dove under the water. Thora cringed as the bolt hit the water, the light emitted being nearly blinding.

Afterwards, there was no sign of Alvin –only dead fish rising to the surface of the water.

“Savage!” Dagur called out. “I have a one-time offer for you and your men. You can join me…or you can join Alvin.” An innocent grin came to his lips as he lightly shrugged. “Your choice.”

 

Half an hour later found the Outcast ship pulling up alongside the dock. Dagur and his men had already landed and he was discussing things with Vorg. His attention was drawn away as Thora, not waiting for the gangplank, hopped over the railing and onto the dock. Turning to face her, he held his arms out and wore a triumphant smile, not noticing the look of anger on her face.

“Wasn’t that a fun little fight, beautiful?” he asked her. “And now, with Alvin out of the way—”

Thora slapped him.

A stunned silence fell over the docks, both Outcasts and Berserkers watching in horror and amusement.

Dagur stared up at her, eyes wide; he was too shocked to even notice that the slap had skewed his helmet. “What-” he started to say, but she cut him off again.

“Goin’ against Alvin t’ get the Skrill is _one_ thing,” she snapped, pointing a scolding finger at him. “But goin’ against _me_? How _DARE_ ya!”

He shrank back ever so slightly. “I don’t know-”

“Oh, you bloody well _do_ know, Dagur!” She put her hands on her hips as she glared down at him. “Tellin’ me that you’ll let me return t’ Berk so I can go train under my brothers an’ tellin’ me how much ya adore me! Only for ya t’ go behind my back an’ make plans t’ invade my home?!” She bared her teeth at him, her rage all too obvious. “Did ya even mean a single word ya said to me, or was it all a ruse t’ try an’ get me on your side, hmm?”

He swallowed hard, rubbing the spot on his cheek. “N-now, Thora, what Alvin told you is what I _lead_ him to believe! I wasn’t actually going to attack Berk!” he told her, a bit of fear in his voice. “Do you honestly think I would do such a thing to my future queen?”

“I don’t know,” she growled, eyes narrowed. “ _Would_ you?”

An excited expression suddenly came to Dagur’s face. “As a show of good faith,” he began, “Vorg, accompany my fiancée to her dragon’s pen and see to it that they’re reunited! And make sure –Death Dance, did you say?- Death Dance is given a filling meal! They have a long journey ahead of them soon.”

“S-sir?” Vorg stammered, eyes wide in fear. He didn’t want to be left alone with the angry half-troll woman!

Dagur spun around, his face contorted in anger. “ _Did I stutter_?”

Vorg swallowed hard, saluting him. “No, sir. Right this way, Lady Thora!” He started to hurry off, hearing Thora following after him. If he hadn’t been so scared, he would have seen the mixture of amusement and fear on Dagur’s face when Thora thwacked him with her tail.

After a few minutes of walking, he froze when he heard her speak, annoyance in her voice. “It’s _this_ way.”

Slowly, he turned around, seeing her beginning to walk in a different direction than him. “But—But, Lady Thora, the arena is-”

“She’s not in the arena. Her pen is this way.”

Following after her, Vorg found himself having to sprint to keep up. Soon, they were met by the sight of five heavily-armed Outcasts standing in front of the gate leading to Death Dance’s pen. As they approached, Vorg darted in front of Thora.

“By orders of your new chieftain, Dagur the Deranged, the dragon belonging to Lady Thora is to be released,” he called out, all fear leaving his voice.

“Like we’d believe _you_ , Berserker scum!” one of them shouted.

“Alvin the Treacherous was killed by a blast from the Skrill,” Vorg retorted, a smug look on his face. “Out of sheer _kindness_ , Dagur has accepted surrender from his second-in-command, Savage.”

The Outcasts glanced between one another, uncertainty on their faces.

“He isn’t lyin’,” Thora confirmed. “There’s a lovely spot out in the harbor, filled with dead fish if ya want proof. Think some o’ Alvin’s beard may have floated up, too.”

Still unsure whether or not they were hearing the truth, the Outcasts backed down. One of them moved to open the gate.

“Thank you,” Thora grumbled as she walked past them, Vorg on her heels.

Thora’s mood seemed to change as quickly as Dagur’s the second she stepped foot into the arena. Vorg cocked a brow as he looked at her only to let out a loud curse as the enormous Boneknapper came barreling towards them.

“Odin’s missing eye! That thing’s huge!” he cried, pressing himself against the wall.

Thora pouted as she nuzzled her dragon. “I’ll have ya know, that ‘thing’ happens t’ be a girl an’ her name is Death Dance,” she scolded. “She’s a Boneknapper –an’ a young one at that.”

His eyes somehow managed to get even wider in horror. “You-you mean she’s going to get _bigger_?”

An amused grin came to Thora’s lip. “Aye.” She scratched under Death’s jaw. “C’mon, girl. Let’s get you out o’ this nasty place, eh? Let ya stretch your wings a bit?”

Death Dance clacked her jaws in happiness. She followed her rider out of the pen and shot a glare at the Outcasts who stood outside. Sniffing them, she snorted in distaste only to pull back and sneeze. As she sneezed, a fireball flew from her mouth, hitting the ground a few feet away.

It was just seconds later that lightning tore through the sky –but it came from the ground. Thora glanced up in time to see a Night Fury racing away from the harbor and, just a few seconds later, the Skrill taking chase. She groaned, smacking her forehead when she saw Dagur dangling from the ropes, cackling maniacally.

‘And my plan gets washed away…’ she thought, rushing to mount Death Dance.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Vorg demanded, grabbing her arm and stopping her. “Dagur didn’t say you could leave!”

She glared at him, the look alone making him release her. “I’m not leavin’,” she growled. “I’m goin’ t’ stop my _fiancé_ an’ _cousin_ from killin’ one another!”

As soon as she felt that Thora was fully seated, Death Dance took to the air. Thora couldn’t help but let out a sigh; it had been so long since the two of them had flown together that she had almost forgotten how freeing it was. But, as she heard the explosions that were Toothless firing his plasma blasts, she knew she couldn’t let herself get carried away.

“C’mon, girl,” she murmured, “let’s go make sure no one gets killed…”

It didn’t take long for them to find Hiccup and Dagur. The two males were standing on opposing cliffs, shouting insults to one another. Toothless shot a plasma blast at the Skrill, who used it lightning powers to shield itself from the blast. Two more shots followed, but still, the Skrill was able to avoid the attacks.

“Is that _it?”_ cackled Dagur. “I was hoping for something a little more _challenging_!”

“So was I!” Hiccup called back.

Thora cocked her brow. ‘What is Hiccup trying to do?’ she thought, deciding to not intervene unless it looked like someone was about to get killed. She didn’t want Death Dance to get hit by the Skrill –least of all, with her riding.

Dagur took a few steps forward, unknowingly walking into puddles of water.

Toothless unleashed another barrage of plasma blasts.

As the Skrill used its barrier to shield itself, Thora watched as bolts of lightning traveled down the ropes and along Dagur’s arms and chest. She flinched, watching as he was thrown off the cliff. He landed with a metallic clang some yards below. Somehow, Dagur managed to get to push himself upright, only to have a second, smaller charge course through his body. He fell once more, groaning.

Looking down at Dagur, Thora sighed and shook her head. She turned Death Dance to face away from the island, intent on flying home. They didn’t make it far when a curse flew from her mouth and Death Dance let out a startled yelp. A bolt of lightning had flown past them, quickly followed by the Skrill.

Toothless took to the air, catching the Skrill’s attention and leading it away from the area.

Thora glanced over her shoulder, seeing Dagur trying to push himself up, but failing. She bit her tongue and looked to the horizon, trying to shove him out of her mind –she was free now. She could go home and forget this ever happened. She didn’t have to go back and make sure he was alright! Not to mention, he was her enemy. He clearly wanted Hiccup dead-

“Thora, you’re an idiot,” she grumbled, once more turning Death Dance. Having her dragon sweep low to the ground, she held onto her saddle with her tail before leaning way over and grabbing the Berserker. “How’re ya feelin?” she questioned.

Dagur merely groaned as she righted herself, holding him against her form to make sure he didn’t fall. He said nothing. Thora tilted his head back, finding his eyes trying to open, but failing. His body went limp and his head flopped forward as he finally fell unconscious.

“Unconscious. Great…” Sighing softly, she rolled her eyes and steered Death Dance back towards the village.

‘Hiccup is going to kill me,’ she thought, seeing the village approach. ‘He already hates the fact that I owe Dagur my life; now I’m _healing_ him?’ She shook her head, directing the dragon to the docks where Dagur’s ship was moored. ‘But…I couldn’t just leave him like that. Even if he was _Alvin_ , I couldn’t just leave him. It’s a pathetic way to go out –not that he’s _that_ injured. But still. I’m about to heal our enemy a _second_ time and no one is going to enjoy that knowledge…’

As Death Dance landed on the docks, she awkwardly slid from the dragon’s back, Dagur still in her arms. Shifting him so that she carried him bridal-style, she started to walk towards his ship. Vorg and Savage stopped her before she could head up the gangplank, their eyes narrowed in confusion and anger.

“What happened?” demanded Vorg, his fists clenched.

“Is he dead?” asked Savage, a hopeful note to his voice.

“He got zapped by the Skrill,” she replied. “He’s not dead –yet, at least. If the two o’ ya could move, I could get t’ work healin’ him.” Vorg stepped aside, holding out his arm and motioning for her to go forward.

“Is there anything you require, Lady Thora?” he asked, following after her.

“Anythin’ medicinal,” she replied. “Herbs, salves, oils, bandages –clean water, both hot an’ cold. Clean cloths, too. If possible, I’d like fresh herbs, but dried will work.”

He nodded in understanding. “I will have them brought to you immediately. Is there anything else?”

She shook her head. “No. That should be it.”

Vorg opened the door to Dagur’s cabin for her before hurrying off to fulfill her request. Thora went over to the bed, carefully laying Dagur down atop it. Rolling up the sleeves of her tunic, she hastily tied back her hair into one, thick braid before getting to work.

Taking off his helmet, she set it atop his trunk; the leather band he wore had the same fate. Next, she removed the various belts that kept his armor secured to his body before taking off his leather jerkin and the strange full-arm glove he wore on his left arm. She was about to strip him of his linen under-tunic when she heard footsteps approaching in the hall.

“Where would you like this, Lady Thora?” Vorg asked, stepping into the room. He carried with him the large trunk Thora knew contained their medicine supply. Fylkir came in behind him, toting a steaming kettle and a bucket.

She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “Over here, by the bedside,” she sighed. It was strange, giving orders only to have them unquestionably obeyed. ‘Is this what Gothi feels like?’ she thought, hiding a small grin. ‘I could get used to it.’

“Would you like assistance, Lady Thora?” Fylkir questioned, setting the kettle down with a small grunt.

“No, thank you. It’d be safer an’ quicker if it was just me,” she replied, pulling over a stool with her tail.

The two men nodded. “I must return to my duties,” Vorg told her, “but Fylkir will be just outside should you require anything.”

Thora nodded as well and gave them a small, acknowledging wave before turning her attention back to Dagur as the door was shut. Frowning as she saw how long his under-tunic was, she contemplated just cutting it from his body. She thought better of that idea, however; with a sigh, she began the chore of removing it.

Her eyes suddenly widened and her jaw fell somewhat slack.

“Oh my gods,” she murmured, seeing the assortment of scars covering his chest. Many of them were small, thin slices and hardly noticeable –old scars left from his days of learning to fight- but there were two large, discolored spots on him. She swallowed hard and unconsciously ran her fingers along one of the spots. ‘This is definitely from some sort of infection. I can see the original wound mark…but why would he let it get that bad? Or did this happen before they had a healer?’

Shaking her head, she pulled her hand away. She had a job to do and it didn’t involve questioning Dagur’s past. Grabbing one of the cloths, she dunked it into the hot water and wrung it out, using it to clean the dirt and soot from his wounds. Thankfully, he didn’t have many, but the burns left by the Skrill trailed all the way along his arms and onto his chest.

She was nearly done tending to his wounds when he started to wake up. Her brow rose, but she continued to pour a bit of lavender oil on his arm. She gently began massaging it into his skin as he opened his eyes, looking around in confusion.

“Wha--?” he murmured, brows furrowing.

“Your Skrill blasted ya a good one,” she answered, her own eyes focused on the task at hand. “Then ya fell a good fifteen feet onto solid rock. Got away relatively unscathed, all things considerin’.”

He watched her for a minute, her words slowly sinking in. “So, it got away?”

“As far as I know,” she told him. “I reach the area just as it an’ Hiccup were flyin’ away.” It was a small lie, but he wouldn’t know. “How do ya feel?”

Dagur pulled his arm away from her and sat up, a frown on his face. “Like I’m going to hunt down and a kill a Haddock,” he growled, making to stand up. Before he got halfway up, however, Thora grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down. “He took my Skrill from me!” he snarled, glaring up at her. “He embarrassed me in front of my men!”

“I’m fully aware o’ that,” she calmly replied, “but I’d like t’ point out two things t’ you.”

“And just _what_ would they be?” he snapped.

“One, you’re _injured_ , Dagur. I’m not about t’ let ya go prancin’ off after Hiccup when I haven’t even finished bandaging you yet.”

He appeared thoroughly unconvinced. “And the second?” he replied, voice bland and sarcastic. His eyes shot wide open and he fell back as Thora suddenly lunged at him, her teeth bared. He swallowed hard, looking up as she had him pinned between her and the bed.

“If you hurt one _hair_ on my cousin’s head while I’m gone,” she threatened, “I will call off that weddin’ faster than you can say ‘Gods help me’. Understand?”

Dagur slowly nodded, eyes still wide.

Thora watched his face for a few seconds longer, making sure he wouldn’t suddenly fly into a fit of rage or attempt to seduce her. Then, she slowly pulled back, allowing him to sit upright once more. They sat in a tense, awkward silence as she went back to putting the oil on his arm. She was halfway through bandaging it when Dagur finally spoke.

“…Has, uh, anyone ever told you how frighteningly attractive you are when you’re angry?” he questioned.

She shot him a look, letting him know that he _hadn’t_ said the right thing. “Flattery isn’t goin’ t’ make me any less upset with ya,” she retorted, tying the bandage off. Scooting the stool across the floor, she began treating his other arm.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I was going to _actually_ kill him,” he grumbled, looking away from her.

“I don’t care, Dagur!” She pointed a scolding finger at him, almost making him flinch. “Hiccup is my _family_ an’ family _always_ comes first.”

Dagur fell silent, letting her finish her work. The whole time, though, he wore a pout.

When she was done with his injuries, Thora cleaned up the mess she had made, setting everything in a neat pile on the table. Sighing, she ran a hand over her hair and looked around the room for anything she may have missed. Finding nothing, she breathed a second sigh –this one being of relief.

“Now that you’re bandaged up, I’m goin’ t’ get goin’,” she told him, her voice calm once more.

“Going? Where?”

“Back t’ Berk.”

He frowned. “But-”

She cocked her brow. “Ya said you would let me go,” she reminded him. “I was supposed t’ leave for my brothers’ a week ago.” Another small lie. “If I wait any longer, Dagur, I literally have no idea what will happen. I can’t delay any longer.”

Dagur let out a defeated sigh, looking away from her again. “Fine,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of depressed and deflated. “Go. If anyone tries to stop you, tell them I’ve given you full permission to take your leave.” He blinked, eyes widening as he felt Thora kiss his cheek.

“See you…someday,” she told him, pulling back. With just a hint of a smile on her lips, she lightly thwacked his face with her tail before leaving the room.

“I _knew_ she liked me,” he murmured, grinning as he rubbed his cheek.

At the end of hallway, Thora rolled her eyes. “You wish,” she muttered.


	18. 18

Gobber worriedly poked at the pile of furs and blankets that made up Thora’s new bed (her hammock had snapped). “Lovey…? Lovey, you in there?” On one hand, he felt guilty for disturbing her, but on the other hook, he wanted to make sure his daughter was still safe and sound A sigh of relief left his mouth as the pile shifted and a rather disgruntled Thora poked her head out from beneath the layers..

“Da’…That’s the fourth time this week,” she mumbled, tiredly rubbing her eyes. “The sun’s not even up yet!”

He pouted, doing his best to not laugh at her extraordinary bedhead. “Well, _excuse me_ for worryin’ ‘bout my daughter when she was missin’ for a month!” he retorted. “And, for your information, the sun’s been up for nearly three hours now. I _waited_ t’ bother ya today.”

Rolling her eyes, she flopped back down on the cot. “Still. Ya don’t need t’ keep checkin’ t’ see if I’m still here. If someone had come in, tryin’ t’ kidnap me, I would have kicked up a fuss.”

“A father can never been too cautious when it comes t’ his teenaged daughter, lovey!” he chirped, going over to the fire. “Now, why don’t you untangle yourself from your bed and come get some breakfast, eh? I made your favorite!”

Her brow rose as she rubbed her face. “Griddle cakes?” she questioned.

“Mhm. You slept right through me makin’ them, too! That’s what got me worried in the first place; I dropped the pan on my foot and hopped around, swearin’ up a storm. I’m honestly surprised ya slept through it!”

“T’ be fair, I was up fairly late.” Yawning, she sat up and stretched before climbing out of the bed. “Everyone wanted t’ hear every detail ‘bout my imprisonment…for the third time.” Shaking her head, she passed by Gobber and headed into the back room.

Gobber chuckled, shaking his head. “Livin’ the hard life o’ a celebrity, are ya?” he called. Poking the fire, he moved the logs around so that they would burn slower.

“It’s a silly way o’ becomin’ one!” she shouted back. “Leave that sort o’ thing t’ Hiccup an’ the riders!”

At that, he let out a belly-laugh. “Well, at least you’re not lettin’ the fame get t’ your head!”

She returned from the back room, wiping her hands with a cloth. “Very funny. Now, what’s this about griddle cakes?”

He turned, holding up a large platter filled to the brim with food. “Not just griddle cakes!” he beamed. “There’s bacon, sausage, some honey cakes with yak butter, an’ even some mulled wine!”

Thora stopped, staring at the overwhelming amount of food. To say it smelled delicious would have been an understatement; her nose was ambushed by the sheer amount of scrumptiousness that filled it. Her mouth beginning to water, she teasingly smirked and took the whole platter from her father and headed for the table.

“Where’s _your_ breakfast, da’?” she joked, sitting down with the platter. “Or did ya already eat?”

His brow rising, Gobber sat down across from her. “Very funny, lovey,” he retorted. Grabbing the lip of the platter, he pulled it back towards him, stabbing his knife into one of the honey cakes. “Obviously, I didn’t make the honey cakes or the sausage, but the rest is o’ my own doin’. Hope the griddle cakes came out alright; I added a special ingredient to them!”

“Ya did?” She warily looked at the griddle cake she was about to take a bite out of. “It’s not cumin, is it?”

He gave her a bland look. “Lovey, why would I put cumin in it when I know you’re allergic t’ the stuff?”

She shrugged, using her tail to pour herself some mulled wine. “Ya forgot that one time a few years back, when ya slathered the boar roast in it.” Now knowing the food was safe, she took a large bite of the griddle cake, chewing it slowly in an attempt to find out what his ‘special ingredient’ was. Right away, she noticed a mild, licorice-esque flavor mingling with the sweetness of the cake.

Gobber sighed, pouting. “At least you were able t’ smell it, so ya didn’t eat it.” He shoved the whole honey cake into his mouth, chewing it. “So, d’ya know what the ingredient is?” he asked, spraying crumbs all over his side of the table.

Unlike her father, she swallowed before speaking. “I’m thinkin’ ya added anise t’ them.” She took a small drink of the wine.

He pouted. “I was hopin’ it wouldn’t be _that_ obvious…”

“Well, anise does have a rather distinct flavor,” she chuckled. “It’s good, though! Really good.” She shoved the rest of the cake in her mouth, grinning as she grabbed a second one as well as some bacon and sausage.

Gobber rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Good. Glad my accident turned out good in the end.”

“Accident?” she questioned, raising a brow.

He looked away, an innocent look on his face. “Er…Well, I may have added the anise because I wasn’t lookin’ when I went t’ add in the salt.”

Thora snorted. “Well, it’s still good. Ya should teach this one t’ Uncle Stoick so he can make Hiccup gain some weight.” She took another drink, grinning behind the mug.

Scratching his chin, Gobber looked thoughtful for a moment. “Y’know, that boy could stand t’ gain a bit o’ weight,” he murmured. “Aye, I’ll teach Stoick how t’ make them. Can’t make any promises that he’ll make them _right,_ though…”

“True…Uncle Stoick isn’t the best o’ cooks. I’m surprised Hiccup’s lasted this long on boiled leather an’ hardtack.”

Gobber nearly choked on own wine; instead, he ended up dribbling some down his chin and onto his shirt. “Lovey, don’t make jokes when I’m tryin’ t’ drink!” he laughed.

She shrugged, grinning innocently. “Not my fault you have poor timin’.”

“Well aren’t you lil’ miss sassy this mornin’!” he snorted. “You’ve been hangin’ out with those rapscallion twins again, haven’t ya?”

Her brow rose. “Da’? They’re my best friends. O’ _course_ I’ve been hanging out with ‘em.” She paused, hearing muted voices coming towards the house. “Speakin’ o’ them…I think I hear them comin’.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere until you’ve eaten a proper breakfast, young lady,” Gobber scolded. “Your friends can wait. They got t’ see ya long before I did; they can wait awhile!” He then faked a small sob. “Not t’ mention, you’ll be leavin’ your ol’ man again here in just a few more days…” Feigning a sniffle, he wobbled his jaw pathetically.

Thora gave him an apologetic look. “It’s not like I _wanted_ t’ get kidnapped, da’,” she assured him. “If I could go back in time an’ switch things up, I would, but as it is, I can’t.”

“I know, lovey, I know. I’m just givin’ ya hard time.” He served himself some sausages and griddle cakes. “It’s extremely important for ya t’ go t’ the mainland; we don’t want ya walkin’ around without knowin’ how to use your magic, after all.”

Her brow rose as she glanced up at him. “An’ t’ try an’ make an alliance with the trolls an’ our people,” she added.

He frowned. “What?”

“Uncle Stoick asked me t’ try an’ secure some sort o’ alliance with my brothers’ people.” She plucked up a honey cake. “Apparently, since Greta died, the treaty between us needs t’ be renewed or somethin’. I wasn’t aware there had been one in the first place. I thought it had just been a temporary thing when it came t’ fightin’ off the Romans.” Taking a bite of the honey cake, she mentally thanked Pála Hofferson for the delicious gift.

Gobber rolled his eyes a second time. “Really? He does realize you’ll be there t’ learn, not for politics, right?”

She shrugged. “In his defense, if I’m t’ become a Völva, I’ll need t’ learn politics as well as magic an’ healin’. I’m not sure how much different troll politics are from human ones, though…”

He frowned at the thought; he wanted his daughter to have a fun time while away. If she was going to end up dealing with politics as well as magic and healing, he had the feeling she wouldn’t have much free time. “That I couldn’t tell ya, lovey. You’ll find out when ya get there I imagine.”

 

* * *

 

 

‘And what is the meaning behind Dagaz?’

“Gratification, awareness, safekeeping. It usually means a positive outcome is comin’ t’ the person.”

Gothi nodded her approval. ‘Tiwaz?’

Thora blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Strength, self-sacrifice, assurance, vigor, duty, an’ victory. It helps bring a sense o’ leadership, protection, an’ wisdom.”

‘And what of Laguz?’

Thora was silent, trying to remember the meaning of the rune. Biting her tongue, she pulled a knee to her chest and rested her chin atop it. “It means…er…it means…”

‘It is not a physical rune.’

She perked with the hint. “Ah! That’s right. It means dreams, rebirth, emotional energy, an’ the unconscious mind. When seen in a readin’, it means t’ trust your gut.”

Gothi smiled, a quiet laugh leaving her mouth. ‘Very good, child. Very good. I am surprised you remembered all of that! It has been awhile since we went over the stones.’

Thora gave her a small smile. “T’ be honest, I sometimes went over the runes an’ their meanings t’ help me get to sleep.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face and over her shoulders. “Laguz, gebo, an’ hagalaz always gave me trouble.”

She nodded in understanding. ‘Memorizing the runes is no easy work,’ she wrote. ‘It can take months to properly recall them, and even longer to put them together when it comes to doing a reading.’ Reaching over, she grabbed the velvet bag that contained her set of rune stones. She handed it to Thora, letting her open it and look over the stones. ‘And remember: When it comes time for you to make your own set, it is best to choose a material that means something to you.’

Thora turned one of the stones –raido- over in her hand, a small smile coming to her lips as she felt it quickly warm up from her body heat. “So what significance does amber hold for ya?” she questioned.

‘Amber has always been one of my favorite stones,’ Gothi wrote after cleaning her board. ‘When one holds it in their hands, they can just feel the magic coursing through the stone. But more than that, I made my stones from a necklace my mother had always worn.’

She pulled a few stones from the bag, looking at them fondly for many minutes, a reminiscent, almost mournful, smile on her lips. With a quiet sigh, she let them slide down her palm and back into the bag.

‘Upon her death,’ she finally wrote again, ‘she requested it be given to me. Knowing I could never wear such a beautiful thing, I turned it into my runes.’

As she put the singular stone back into the bag, Thora didn’t notice as her other hand unconscious rose to her neck. “At least they’re a good way for ya t’ remember your mum by,” she commented, fingers trailing along the beads poking out of her tunic.

‘That they are,’ she wrote. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Thora’s hand; she was unable to see the necklace. ‘What are you feeling, child? Do you have an injury?’

“No?” she blinked, a little taken aback by the inquiry. She blinked, surprised again when she realized what she had been doing. “Ah, shit! I forgot t’ give this back!” she yelped, her eyes widening as she pulled the jewelry from beneath her tunic. “Oh gods, I wasn’t supposed t’ keep this…”

Gothi cocked a brow, confusion on her face. She wrote nothing, however, knowing Thora would explain it.

Biting her tongue, Thora stared down at the necklace. It was still just as beautiful, though the glass beads now reflected the reds and yellows of the fire dancing a few feet away. “Er…It was—it was a gift. From Dagur,” she murmured, cheeks growing hot.

‘An expensive and beautiful gift.’

She nodded in agreement. “Aye. That’s because…er, because he gave it to me as—“ She glanced away, pulling her other knee to her chest now. “—As an early weddin’ present.” She waited for the outburst she expected Gothi to have; she hadn’t told anyone beside Hiccup just _how_ she had managed to convince Dagur to free her.

Gothi, however, remained calm as ever. ‘An early wedding present?’

Again, Thora nodded and let out a heavy sigh. “Ya can’t tell da’ or Uncle Stoick. Please. I mean, I didn’t actually agree t’ marry Dagur or anythin’. I just told him that, if he helped me get home, I _may_ marry him after I get back from the mainland.’

‘You did what you had to do to survive. There is no reason to be ashamed of that.’

“I’m not so much ashamed as I am guilty feelin’.” She glanced up at Gothi, seeing her wear a concerned expression. “I mean, in his own, deranged way, Dagur actually _cares_ about me an’ I used that _against_ him.” Running a hand through her hair again, she sighed and closed her eyes. “Aye, he’s our enemy an’ all that, but still. He’s a person an’ it felt wrong manipulating him.”

Gothi gently patted her back, her concern having been replaced by an understanding smile. ‘That is because you are a good person, Thora,’ she wrote, ‘but you must remember that sometimes, you will be put in situations where you need to do bad things in order to survive or to protect your people and loved ones.’

Thora peeked up at her from behind her knees. “Have ya ever…?”

She nodded, a grim look in her eyes. ‘It is not an easy thing to do, but there are times when you have no other choice.’

“How did ya make yourself feel better about it?”

‘Did my best to forget. But I am afraid the guilt never truly leaves.’ She paused, cleaning her board off with a bit of water. ‘Now, did you specifically state that you may marry him upon your return, or did you say you would?’

“I said ‘may’,” Thora replied, “but I also said if I found out he hurt one hair on Hiccup’s head, everything would be called off.”

At that, Gothi smiled. ‘Then I would not dwell on this if I were you. I have a feeling Hiccup will have more encounters with this Deranged fellow.”

Thora groaned. “That’s what I’m afraid of! I don’t want Hiccup t’ get hurt. Dagur isn’t nearly as dumb as he seems _and_ he’s a better fighter than Hiccup. Unless Astrid or the other riders are around, Hiccup won’t stand a chance, even _with_ Toothless!”

Again, Gothi patted her on the back with a small laugh. ‘My dear, sweet child! You worry too much about Hiccup. He is the son of a chieftain and the first of the Dragon Riders. With time, he will become a great warrior –just as you will become a great witch. Worry about him, yes, but do not let that worry consume you.’

She let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry…It’s just—it’s just nerves, I guess. Since I’m leavin’ in three days, I keep frettin’ over him.”

‘As well as your father, your uncle, the Thorston twins, me…’ Gothi teasingly wrote.

“Ugh…I’m sorry I’m bein’ annoying…” She let herself fall back, flopping onto the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

‘You are not being annoying, child,’ Gothi wrote, quietly laughing. ‘Just motherly is all. A person your age should be more carefree.’

Thora rubbed her face, irritated with herself. “I would be if I hadn’t seen just how bad da’ was doin’ when I was gone for a month.”

‘That is because he refused to listen to reason and believed you to be dead. Your journey to the mainland is entirely different and he has known about it for many months now. He has had time to mentally prepare himself.’

She blew a raspberry as she read over the words. “Ya know he’s goin’ t’ be a giant, weepy mess for three weeks after I leave.”

Gothi smiled. ‘I never said he was not. But he will be able to better handle your leaving –especially if you make sure to send letters home every once in a while.’

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I plan on sendin’ letters _an’_ presents. If I can afford presents, that is…”

 

* * *

 

 

“Aw, man! Did you see the size of that beetle?”

“Yeah, it was bigger than your brain!”

Thora snorted as she watched the twins dig through a rotting log in their hunt for mushrooms. “Aw, don’t be so mean, Ruff! Tuff’s brain is at _least_ this big,” she joked, holding up a large, wriggling grub.

The twins gawked at it, their jaws hanging slack.

“Thor’s beard…that thing’s huge!” Ruffnut cried, snatching it from Thora. “It’s like half the size of my palm!”

Tuffnut snickered. “Bet you couldn’t eat it in one go,” he dared his twin.

Ruffnut stuck her tongue out in disgust. “Ugh, why would I eat _this_? It eats _wood_ for a living!” She then smirked, a mischievous look coming to her eyes. “Hey, Tuffnut? Give ya three silver pieces if _you_ eat it in one go.”

“Dude! For three silver, I’ll eat _anything_ in one go!” He grabbed the grub and opened his mouth.

“Tuffnut Thorston, don’t ya dare!” Thora cried, horror on her face as she pulled the insect from his fingers. She yelped, shaking her hand as the grub bit her with its large pincers; as she shook her hand, it went flying through the air. “Son of a maggot-sucker!” she hissed, squeezing a bit of blood from the tiny holes in her skin.

The twins look at one another, unimpressed by her words. “Son of a maggot-sucker? Really?” Ruffnut blandly commented.

“It hurt!” Thora defended.

“Yeah, but that was a lame way of cursing,” Tuffnut told her. “Personally, I would have gone with cursed kin of a conniving quail.”

Ruffnut cocked her brow. “But ‘oozing offspring of Odin’ is so much more catchy!”

Thora rolled her eyes, but managed a small laugh. “Well, the two o’ ya can use those. I’m goin’ t’ stick t’ my ‘lame’ curses.”

A mischievous grin suddenly came to Tuffnut’s face. “Hey, when you get back from the mainland, you’ll _really_ know how to curse.”

Ruffnut snickered. “Yeah, except those curses will pack a mean punch!”

Rolling her eyes once more, Thora thwacked the two of them with her tail. “And the two o’ ya will be the first ones I curse if ya keep up the bad jokes.”

Tuffnut frowned as he stood up. “Only if you hex Ruffnut first. I want to see you turn her into a toad or something. Be right back.” He walked some yards away, disappearing behind a tree.

“I don’t want to be a toad! Toads are lame!” She crossed her arms, playfully pouting. “Turn me into a mosquito so I can buzz around Tuff’s ears all day.”

Thora snorted. “I don’t think I’ll be able t’ do that, Ruff. It’s mostly healin’ an’ divination work I’m goin’ t’ learn.”

She shrugged. “You never know. I mean, there _are_ tales of trolls changing their shape into birds or into that of beautiful women or something.”

“Trust me, if anyone’s heard the sorts o’ things trolls do, Ruff, it’d be me,” she sighed. Holding out her hand, she began using her fingers to list off things. “They shapeshift, they steal cattle, they grow t’ be as big as mountains, they hoard gold, they eat humans…There’s a lot o’ things they supposedly do. When I get t’ my brothers’, I’ll learn what’s true an’ what’s not.”

Grinning, Ruffnut went back to her hunt for mushrooms. “Well, I know one of those things in true, at least in regards to you,” she commented. “The hoarding gold thing. Though, your piercings are all silver…Eh, it’s all treasure in the end.”

“I like my earrings…” Thora raised her hands, feeling along her ears. She _did_ have quite a few pieces of metal and bone stuck through her ears; her nose scrunched up as she realized she actually had room for many more if she wanted. “Maybe when I come back, I’ll have way more than I have now.”

Climbing over the log, Ruffnut headed for the base of a nearby tree that was covered in moss. “Maybe. Just…Keep it to your ears, alright? I’ve heard bad things about other piercings come winter.”

She shuddered at the thought. “I don’t even want t’ think about _where_ you’d have t’ pierce t’ have that happen,” she murmured.

“Oh, all sorts of places!” Ruffnut chirped. “I found some mushrooms, by the way. I’m pretty sure these ones are edible, but come double check for me.” She peeked around the tree as she heard Thora stand up. “Anyway, yeah –there are all sorts of places. Your nose, your lips, your nipples, your-”

“I said I _didn’t_ want t’ think about it,” Thora told her, brow raised. “No. Those ones aren’t edible. Well, they _are_ , but only if ya want t’ go off into la-la land for a few hours.”

Ruffnut pouted as Thora reached out, grabbing her wrist before she could pick one of the mushrooms.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she warned.

Still pouting, Ruffnut looked away. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I was just going to slip it to Tuffnut in his dinner tonight…”

“Funny, I was thinking of doing the same thing!” Tuffnut had returned, adjusting the lower portion of his tunic. “Except, I was going to use the mushrooms I found until I realized I was peeing on them.” He stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Even _I’m_ not _that_ gross.”

Thora smacked her forehead. “Why do the two o’ ya even need mushrooms?” she sighed, shaking her head. She was beginning to wonder if this is how Ylva felt every day for the last fifteen years.

“Oh. Well, we found out that if we feed Barf different types of mushrooms, it alters the makeup of his gas,” Ruffnut explained. “So, we’ve been trying out different sorts to see if they have any useful effects.”

“Yeah, kinda like with Meatlug and the different minerals she eats,” Tuffnut added. “So far, we’ve found out that stensopps increase the percussive power of the blast, chanterelles make the gas hang in the air longer, and blek taggsvamp make it denser, so it stays on the ground better instead of blowing away.”

Ruffnut grinned proudly. “Maybe we should try some mushrooms that aren’t safe for humans? After all, dragons eat a lot of stuff we _can’t_. Who’s to say they can’t have a spindelskiving or a…whatever these are.” She pointed at the mushrooms she had found.

“Röd flugsvamp,” Thora told her. “Technically, it _can_ be eaten, but it’s safer not to. Also, have ya told Hiccup about this? I think Fishlegs an’ him would be really interested t’ hear about this.”

At that, the twins looked away from her, both of them wearing matching looks of uncertainty. Thora frowned, having never seen them look such a way before.

“Eh…we better not,” Ruffnut mumbled.

“Yeah. It’s not like this is a big deal like Gronckle iron or anything.” Tuffnut shrugged. “It’s just gas. They probably already know about it.”

Thora frowned. “But it could still prove useful t’ the group! Think about it. If ya fed Barf a combination o’ the three mushrooms ya mentioned, not only would ya have a more powerful blast, but ya can catch more things in it!”

They looked at one another, both shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, but that’s really only good for us destroying things,” Ruffnut commented. “Which is probably what Hiccup and Fishlegs would say.”

“If I know my cousin –an’ trust me, I do know him-, he’ll _love_ hearin’ about this, you two. Ya know how he geeks out over any new information we learn ‘bout the dragons. Remember how he an’ Fishlegs spent an entire day analyzin’ dragon poo?”

Tuffnut snickered. “Yeah…That was a fun day. Following all the dragons around, collecting their poo in buckets…”

“Throwing it at Snotlout when he wasn’t looking.”

“Leaving some in Snotlout’s bed when he wasn’t home.”

“Smearing some across Hookfang’s saddle when he was sleeping.”

“Yeah, a good day,” they sighed together, fond smiles on their faces.

Thora cringed, not knowing that the twins could find so many uses for dragon dung. “Er…I’m glad the two o’ ya had fun with that?” she told them, her disgust obvious. “But, er, back on topic: I really think ya should let Hiccup an’ Fishlegs know ‘bout this! I mean, the two o’ you discovered somethin’ _they_ didn’t know.”

“But they may already know about it.”

She gave them a look, crossing her arms over her chest. “Twins. Do ya really think they’d hide somethin’ like that from ya when it could be a big asset t’ the group?” When they didn’t answer, she lightly smacked them with her tail again. “ _Tell them_. I’m sure they’d be more than excited t’ hear about it.”

Ruffnut threw her hands in the air, a defeated look on her face. “Alright, alright! We’ll tell them.”

“But on one condition,” Tuffnut told Thora, crossing his arms.

She cocked a brow. “An’ what’s that?”

A wicked grin suddenly came to his lips and he held up the grub that she had flung earlier. “Ruffnut’s gotta eat this thing in one go!” he declared.

“Ugh, fine!” She snatched the grub and shoved it in her mouth before Thora could stop her. As she chewed the bug, the other two watched as she pulled a variety of expressions ranging from disgusted to angry to impressed. “Tastes kind o’ like chicken,” she spoke, her mouth full.

Thora smacked her forehead. “Gods, please don’t let them kill each other while I’m gone,” she muttered.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you _sure_ she hasn’t been around? I mean, she’s leaving tomorrow –shouldn’t she, I don’t know, be saying her goodbyes or packing today?”

“Laddie, she’s been sayin’ her goodbyes the last three days. An’ she did all her packin’ last night.” Gobber wiped some sweat from his brow before shoving the sword back into the forge. “I don’t know what t’ tell ya, Hiccup. I honestly don’t know where she is, but I do know she’s still on Berk.” He nodded outside, where Death Dance was slumbering on her back, her legs twitching in the air once in a while.

Hiccup let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just weird that she’s not in town…”

Gobber shrugged. “Maybe she’s runnin’ a last-minute errand in the woods for Gothi?”

“Maybe…” He turned towards Toothless, who had been standing in his shadow. Mounting the dragon, he patted his neck. “C’mon, bud: Let’s go cousin hunting, shall we?”

Toothless made a noise of agreement before spreading his wings and taking to the air.

First, they circled around the forest, trying to find any sign of Thora. Even when they swept in lower to the ground, however, there was no trace. Next, they went to the Death’s Head Headland to see if maybe she was trying to find some new bones for Death Dance. No such luck there, either. Finally, he took a shot at searching along Cowrie Beach and he found his third try to be the lucky one.

Landing some yards away, he found his cousin sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and something in her hands. She didn’t look up as he and Toothless approached, but she wasn’t surprised when he plopped down in the sand beside her. Closer to her now, he saw that she held the necklace sent by her brothers; she was turning the thin slice of stone over and over in her hands, her brows furrowed as she stared at it.

“Still don’t know how it’s going to help you?” he questioned.

“There’s nothin’ etched on it, it doesn’t do anythin’ in different lights, an’ it does nothin’ when submerged in water.” She sighed, handing the thing over to Hiccup. “I don’t know how it’s goin’ t’ guide me t’ my brothers.”

He held the stone up to the light, his brow rising when he saw it seemingly changing colors as the clouds above passed over the sun. “Maybe it’s something that’ll activate when you leave?” he suggested. “Like some sort of enchantment? I don’t think they’d send you something useless.”

Shrugging, she rested her head on her knees. “Hard t’ say. The only things I really know about them are that Ulfr is the eldest, Ormr is the middle, an’ Sindri is the youngest.” Her tail began drawing things in the sand. “I have no idea what their personalities are like.”

“Sounds to me like you’re getting cold feet about this whole thing,” Hiccup commented. He tried sprinkling some sand on the stone, though he expected nothing to happen. “I don’t blame you. After being held captive a month, I wouldn’t want to leave, either.”

“I’m _not_ gettin’ cold feet,” she told him, some defense to her tone. “I’m just…” She let out a heavy sigh and leaned back on her palms. “Nervous. I’m nervous.”

“You have every right to be.” He handed the necklace back to her. “Only a handful of Hooligans have ever left the Archipelago. We don’t know what the mainland is like, aside from the things Trader Johann tells us.”

Taking the necklace back, she slid it around her head. “I’m not so much worried ‘bout the mainland as I am about…well, my brothers, t’ be honest.” She shrugged.

“Again, you have every right to be,” he assured her. “Like you said, you really only know their names. But, if our dads fought alongside them at one point, then they can’t be _too_ bad, right?” He offered her a hopeful smile. “Not to mention the fact that they’re related to you by _blood_ , so they _have_ to be good people.”

She rolled her eyes, but laughed. “That was so cheesy.”

“Cheddar or gruyere?” He grinned as she lightly smacked him with her tail. “Seriously, though, Thora: Even if you’ve only got a single letter to go by, they seem alright. And clearly, they want to meet you. They wouldn’t have sent a reply if they didn’t.” Reaching over, he set a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, turning her gaze back out towards the sea. “I guess that’s true…” The surf was calm that day, with the waves lazily lapping against the pebbles. “You’ll be sure t’ keep an eye on da’ for me, won’t you?”

His smile turned a bit mournful. “Of course I will.”

“An’ you’ll _try_ t’ make sure the twins don’t get themselves killed?”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises,” he chuckled. He scooted closer to her, giving her a one-armed hug. “You don’t have to worry about us so much, you know. We’re _Vikings_ ; we’re tough.”

“An’ we have stubbornness issues,” she reminded him, brow rising. “ _That’s_ the part I’m worried about. Especially with da’. He can be so…so frustratin’ with his pigheadedness sometimes! Even when he needs it, he’ll refuse the help o’ others.” A heavy sigh left her mouth and she ran her hand through her hair. “An’ then there’re the twins who somehow manage t’ put Loki t’ shame with their recklessness.” She shook her head.

Hiccup gave her another small squeeze. “We’ll be fine.”

“My brain knows that, but my heart doesn’t.”

He chuckled. “That’s what you get for having a heart in the first place –especially one as big as yours.” A cheeky grin came to his face. “And just think: It’s only getting bigger with your growth spurt!”

Thora laughed, rolling her eyes. “ _Thanks_ , Hiccup,” she retorted. “I’m just hoping it stops soon. If I get any taller, I won’t fit in any o’ the buildings, except the Great Hall!”

Shrugging, Hiccup leaned back on his palms as well. “I don’t know. I think it’d be kind of nice to be as tall as you. Then again, I’m a walking, talking fishbone…”

“You’re not a fishbone,” she chuckled. “You’ve actually gotten a bit taller over the last few months. Could still stand t’ gain some weight, but the same could be said o’ Astrid an’ the twins, too.”

“I would if my dad wasn’t such a bad cook,” he chuckled.

“Then go t’ _my_ dad’s t’ eat. I mean, he’s not the best cook out there, but his food is edible most o’ the time. An’ at least he can make meat tender instead o’ turnin’ it into leather.”

Hiccup nodded in agreement. “That is very true. I may just have to start doing that, because…dad’s cooking only seems to have gotten _worse_ over the years.”

She cringed at the thought. “An’ here my da’ was goin’ t’ try t’ teach him how t’ make griddle cakes…” she murmured.

“They’ll just come out as either lumps of coal or he’ll undercook them.”

“More than likely. But…at least he tries, right?” She gave him a small smile. “After all, it’s not all that common for men t’ have t’ do the cooking. Neither o’ our dads have had women t’ help them out, really.”

He nodded once more. “Too true,” he agreed. “From what I’ve heard, dad refused the help of the village women, aside from Gothi. And even then, he only accepted her help in teaching him how to properly care for a baby by himself.” He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder to check on Toothless. His dragon was sleeping soundly, tail curled around himself. “And then, in turn, dad showed Gobber when you came into the picture.”

Thora smiled fondly as she brought her tail around. “I still have the marks from where ya bit me the day we met,” she told him. Holding the end of her tail, she pointed to two, tiny marks, the skin being a few shades lighter. “See? Baby teeth are _sharp._ ”

“You wouldn’t think humans have sharp teeth!” he laughed, his cheeks turning red. “Sorry about that, by the way. I don’t know why I’d ever bite someone’s _tail_.”

Her brow rose and she snorted. “Hiccup, we were _babies_. We didn’t know anythin’, aside from how t’ drink milk, how t’ scream at the top o’ our lungs, an’ how t’ soil ourselves.”

At that, Hiccup burst out laughing.

“What? It’s true!” she giggled. “Ya probably bit my tail thinkin’, ‘This thing wiggles. Maybe if I bite it, it’ll give me food?’” She wore a wide grin as Hiccup started laughing harder. “I don’t see why ya think this is all so funny!” she continued, doing her best to keep her tone serious. “Your next thought was probably somethin’ like ‘Oh, dear…it seems I’ve pooed myself. Best scream so daddy can clean my butt!’”

Hiccup was forced to wipe away tears of mirth, he had laughed so hard. “Oh gods, I’m going to miss you!” he chuckled, finally able to catch his breath. “I don’t think anyone else on Berk can manage to make me laugh this hard!”

A sad smile came to her lips. “It helps that we grew up alongside each other, so I know what sets ya off.”

“It’s going to be weird without you here.” His face mirrored her expression. “I mean, it was weird while you were being held captive, but we didn’t know where you were at for that. This time we will.”

Letting out a sigh, he flopped back on the rocks, staring up at the sky. “It’s just going to be strange knowing you’re not on Berk. Fifteen years, we’ve stuck by each other’s side and now…who knows how long we’ll be apart? Who knows how much we’ll change in that time?” He looked over at his cousin as she, too, laid down on the ground. “What if you like the mainland so much, you end up staying there?”

“I don’t think that’d ever happen,” she told him, clasping her hands over her stomach. “I’ve got too much here t’ leave it permanently.”

“But…” He paused, carefully thinking over his words so they wouldn’t accidentally come out in a hurtful manner. “You’ll get to meet more of your family and more of your kind –they may treat you better than what you’ve grown up knowing amongst humans.”

Thora was silent for many minutes. Hiccup had begun to worry that he had, in fact, offended her, but when she finally spoke, he was relieved to find that it was not so. “I had thought about that,” she admitted, “but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I…I just don’t care anymore. Aye, it still hurts bein’ called a monster sometimes, but ya know what? It’s mostly our enemies who call me that. The folk here on Berk?” She shook her head. “I’m fairly certain that, whatever happens, I’ll always come back t’ Berk.” Turning her head, she smiled at Hiccup. “It’s my home and it’ll _always_ be my home. Not even the gods can change that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Gobber stirred in his sleep, a strange feeling coming to his stomach. As he wavered between the point of consciousness and unconsciousness, he thought it was just his stomach reacting to the vast amounts of boar he had eaten earlier at Thora’s farewell feast. The longer he pondered, though, the more he realized that it _wasn’t_ indigestion that had woken him up, but rather an odd, paternal worry.

With a frown on his face, he rolled out of bed and limped over to the window. Opening the shutter, he found the sky just starting to show hints of the coming dawn. He cocked half his brow before going downstairs.

There were only a few embers left in the hearth, but the room was still filled with their warmth. He headed for Thora’s cot only to stop. Through the dim light, he could just barely make out a dagger sticking out of the door. Narrowing his eyes, he hurried over and found the knife pinning a piece of parchment to the door.

It felt like someone dropped a stone in his stomach.

Lighting a candle, he took it and the paper to the table, where he sat down. He didn’t read it right away; instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He knew what he was about read. He should have expected it to happen. Letting out a heavy sigh, he opened his eyes and began to read.

 

_Dad,_

_I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I just…I just couldn’t stand the thought of seeing all of you sad and crying because of me. I know it’d a different sort of crying, but…I just wouldn’t be able to bear the sight. _

_Before I left, I made you some poultices and tinctures. They’re in the pantry. Red jars are for burns, black jars for bruises and cuts, and green jars are for anything else. If you get sick, go see Gothi._

_Please keep an eye on Hiccup. Even though it’s visited him less lately, Trouble still seems to enjoy his company. Also please tell Uncle Stoick that I’m still sorry I spilled ale all over his scale-mail last night._

_Love you lots and lots,_

_Lovey (Thora)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! Thora has finally left for the mainland. The next three chapters are going to take place over the course of the 3 years that she's gone and they're going to contain little vignettes of various scenes during those years. Said scenes will take place both on Berk and on the mainland (maybe we'll even get a peek at a certain Berserker in jail?) and...I have no idea how long the chapters are going to be because of this, lol. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this chapter~ If ya did, feel free to drop a comment or something~ <3


	19. 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as promised, this is an extremely long chapter...xD And the next two or three shall follow in its footsteps.

Thora squinted through the night, holding her cloak tighter to her body. Beside her, Death Dance was lumbering along, doing her best to keep her rider dry. Despite her best efforts, though, Thora was soaked to the bone thanks to the torrential downpour that had started that afternoon.

Three days after their journey, she had come to learn how the necklace worked. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but the stone had started to grow warm as they came nearer and nearer to the mainland. By the time they reached the shores of the continent, the stone was just above a human’s body temperature. Now, however, it felt as if it had been sitting near a fire –which was nice, given how cold she was.

“We’re gettin’ close,” Thora suddenly spoke, her cold fingers gripping at the stone. “I think I see lights up ahead; maybe it’s a village?”

Thunder rumbled and lightning split open the sky, making Thora move closer to Death Dance. Biting her tongue, she shook her head and mentally scolded herself for her fear. After all, it was about the twentieth time that hour that Thor had torn the sky asunder. She should have been used to it by now.

‘It’s just thunder and lightning,’ she told herself. ‘Gods know you’ve been around it enough lately. The storms on Outcast Island, the Skrill, now this…You should know by now that Thor won’t strike you down just because you’re named after him.’

Soon enough, they found themselves approaching the edge of a village. It was the second one they had come across in the two weeks since they left Berk. She had received cold treatment from the first village; whether it was because of her troll blood or because of her skin, she couldn’t tell. As they risked traveling along the main road, Thora wondered if these people would give her the same reaction if it had been daylight.

‘I don’t think I’d want to know, to be honest,’ she thought, covering her mouth as she yawned. ‘That other place was bad enough. For now, I just want to get through here and find a spot where Death and I can get some sleep.’

If there had been more light, she would have been able to see that many of the buildings they passed were much bigger than any she had come across before. Some even towered above Death Dance! Scattered amongst the giant houses, though, were smaller ones; these ones matched the size of the homes back on Berk.

‘Everything’s so quiet,’ she thought, glancing around. ‘I can’t really hear anything besides snoring and the rain…I’m not sure I like this. It almost feels unnatural.’ She paused in her steps, yawning a second time.

Death Dance lightly nudged her shoulder before twisting her head and looking at her back.

“Alright, alright…” Climbing atop her dragon, she found that she was able to see a bit further ahead, but not by much. ‘If only this was a rain storm and _not_ a lightning storm, then we could just fly our way out of here.’

The Boneknapper continued to walk, her vision better than her rider’s in the dark. As they made their way through the village, both dragon and rider quickly came to realize that it was much bigger than they had initially thought: They were actually in a city.

‘Never been in a city before,’ Thora mused. ‘I wonder what it looks like during a dry day? Is it as full of people as our market on Sun’s Day? Probably more so; this place is much bigger than Berk.’

From her spot on Death Dance, Thora was soon able to see lights far in the distance. They weren’t incredibly bright –just four small dots on the horizon- but they were spaced evenly enough apart that she knew they were hanging from a building. She felt the stone around her neck only to let out a small hiss of pain; it was hotter than ever.

‘That must be their home,’ she thought.

Death Dance must have thought the same; she increased her pace and hurried through the streets. Not long after, they left the city behind and Thora was forced to duck as the road took them into a wooded area. The ground below the dragon steadily began to rise.

Thora felt her heart beginning to race. She tried to feel the stone once more, but it was still too hot.

As they came out into the open, Death Dance was forced to take to the air in order to not run headlong into an extremely tall fence. She fluttered to the ground on the other side, turning around to look at the hurdle.

“Odin help me,” Thora murmured, finding it to be almost as tall as her dragon. ‘If that’s any indication of how large my brothers are…I really hope I don’t get that big!’

Sliding off Death Dance, she once more walked alongside her dragon. The hill was a bit steeper here, but they found that large, wide steps had been built into the earth, making the climb easier. As they came to the top, they saw the source of the lights: Four large lanterns hung on the front of an enormous longhouse, two on each side of the gigantic double-doors.

‘Don’t think the Great Hall’s doors are even that big…’

For a third time, she went to feel the stone at her neck.

It was no longer warm.

Her heart racing in anticipation and fear, Thora stepped onto the threshold and raised her hand. Swallowing hard, she looked back at Death Dance. The dragon leaned over, reassuringly nuzzling her. Thora bit her tongue and knocked three times, having to put some muscle into it in order to make any sound on the heavy wood.

Someone or something moved inside the building, murmuring to themselves as they came over to the door. As it was opened, Thora and Death Dance were bathed in bright, warm light that made them both cringe at first. When their eyes grew used to the light, Thora found herself having to look up – _way_ up. Her eyes widened and her jaw fell slack.

The being staring down at her was nearly twenty feet tall and he had hair as wild as her own. His eyes, green like hers, were wide in surprise, but a grin quickly spread across his face. He looked over his shoulder.

“Ulfr! Ormr! Little Sister Thora has arrived!”

 

Not more than an hour later found Thora sitting in a chair much too large for her. She was wrapped up in warm furs and she sipped barley beef soup from a tankard three times the size of what she was used to. With her brothers carefully watching her, she felt more than a little awkward, but the soup was doing wonders to warm her up.

Sitting across from her was Ormr, who was not only the tallest of her brothers, but also had the fairest skin and darkest hair. At the head of the table was Ulfr, who had the darkest skin with golden hair and the most scars Thora had ever seen on a person. He was the shortest of the brothers, though still stood much taller than her. Puttering around the hearth, mumbling to himself, was Sindri; out of the brothers, he was the only one who looked like he could be related to her.

“Was journey good?” Ormr questioned, grinding some herbs in his enormous mortar and pestle. She had quickly learned that, while they could understand it perfectly well, her brothers had trouble speaking her tongue.

Thora nodded, feeling her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. “For the most part, aye,” she replied. She took another sip from the soup, enjoying its warmth.

He tilted his head, a mild look of curiosity on his face. “How long traveled?”

“Er…’bout two, two an’ a half weeks?” she estimated. “I didn’t really keep track o’ time.”

He nodded in understanding. “Was stone helpful?”

She blinked, taking a moment to realize he meant her necklace. “O-oh…er, aye. Aye, it was. Once I figured out how t’ use it, that is.”

Ormr let out a sigh and looked over to Sindri. “Sindri, það hafið þér ekki sagt henni hvernig steinn unnið?”

A guilty look came to Sindri’s face as he stirred the gigantic cauldron containing the soup. “Það er lítill möguleiki að ég gæti hafa gleymt…” he murmured, cheeks darkening in embarrassment. “En hún mynstrağur það út í lok! Það er það sem skiptir máli, ekki satt?” Lifting the pot from its hook, he carried it over to a second table and set it atop a stone slab before putting its lid on.

Ormr opened his mouth to speak, but he was silenced as Ulfr spoke for the first time since Thora arrived. “Is rude to talk in language Little Sister not understand,” he said. A shiver ran down Thora’s spine; his voice was deep and commanding.

“We forget,” Sindri replied simply, unaffected by his brother’s voice. “Is not…ehh…normal happening.” He smiled brightly and set aside his spoon. “Not used to talking in other tongues.” Going over to the table, he sat at the other end and crossed his arms atop the surface, looking at Thora eagerly. “Are so tiny! If not for tail, hair would think you human!” he laughed.

She felt her cheeks grow darker. “Er…I’m actually taller than everyone back home,” she told him. “I have t’ duck goin’ through doors.” She glanced over at Ulfr, who was toying with a trinket in his hair as he watched her intently.

Ormr quietly chuckled. “Will only get taller,” he assured her. “Not hit head on door here, though. Maybe table or chair. Not door.”

A small smile came to her lips. “Hopefully not.”

“Was not told you had dragon for pet,” Ulfr suddenly spoke up. “Thought your father’s people hated dragons?”

“O-oh…That’s, er, a recent thing back home. My cousin found a way t’ train dragons an’ make friends with them.” She gave him a thankful smile. “I really appreciate ya providin’ her with a dry place t’ sleep.”

“She not eat our animals?”

Thora shook her head. “No. She only eats fish.”

He made a noise of understanding, but said nothing.

Sindri, however, rolled his eyes. “She not prisoner!” he lightly scolded. “She little sister! Should be welcoming, not cold.” He lightly shook his finger at Ulfr, who cocked his brow in mild amusement. Turning back to Thora, he smiled again. “Forgive Ulfr. Is grumpy, serious brother. Not know how to have fun.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she chuckled. Taking a peek at Ulfr, though, her laughter faltered; she hid it by taking another drink of soup. “Did ya make this soup, Sindri?”

He nodded. “Mostly. Ormr helped bit. Said needed more herbs. Do you like?”

“It’s delicious. Far better than what my da’ can make.”

At that, Ormr let out a small laugh. “Humans not cook well…afraid to spice things. Afraid to use salt.” He dumped the contents of his mortar into a large, clay jar.

“My da’ likes t’ experiment with spices –when we get them, that is. They’re fairly expensive out on the Archipelago. We mostly use the herbs and roots we can find in the Archipelago.”

Sindri raised a brow, a skeptical look on his face. “Trader Johann not bring spices?”

“Or he ask too high of price…” Ormr shrugged.

Covering her mouth, Thora yawned before using her fingers to fish a bit of beef out of the mug. “It’s mostly the price. We’re a small island, so we don’t have the largest supply o’ gold an’ silver.” She popped the beef into her mouth, surprised by how tender it was. Normally, beef was hard and chewy in soup –at least, in Gobber’s soups it was.

Her brothers nodded in understanding.

Ulfr stood, heading for one of the back of the house where there was a set of three doors and then two doorways leading east and west. “Is late. Am going to bed. Show Little Sister around town tomorrow. Next day, her training start,” he told Ormr and Sindri. “Have Kelda take measurements. Her clothes not fit well. Won’t have family dressed poorly.”

Thora watched as he went into the rightmost door, closing it behind him. Biting her tongue, she unconsciously scooted further back into the pile of furs; something about the way he acted let her know that Ulfr wasn’t exactly pleased by her arrival. She had been fearing that.

Ormr dismissively waved his hand in Ulfr’s direction. “Bah. Give you more rest than that,” he reassured Thora. “Traveled far; are exhausted. Rest well tomorrow, then show you city and Kelda. _Then_ training start.”

“Have so many places to show you!” Sindri chirped. “So many people to meet! City at night not nearly as nice as city during day. Especially summer! So many flowers, so much food, so many colors!”

Reaching over, Ormr set his hand on Sindri’s shoulder. “Calm, brother,” he gently scolded. “Have plenty of time to show Little Sister Thora our people. Not want to…eh, overwhelm?” He glanced at Thora, who nodded. “Not want to overwhelm her. Is big change for her.”

“In more than one way, that’s for sure,” she mumbled.

Both of them laughed. “Ah! Not expecting us this big?” Sindri questioned.

She awkwardly smiled. “Er, well, you are just a _tiny_ bit bigger than I imagined.”

Sindri grinned cheekily, propping his chin on his hand. “Some trolls not big as us. Some almost as small as you! Some, smaller! But Ormr is one of biggest. Sea trolls always big.”

Thora cocked her head curiously. “There are…types o’ trolls?”

Ormr blinked, taken aback by her ignorance. “You not know that?” She shook her head. “Four kinds of trolls. Mountain, forest, sea, swamp. Mountain trolls strongest, sturdiest, vainest. Sea trolls have no tails, tallest, leanest. Forest trolls quietest, peacefulest, wild hair. Swamp trolls…Eh. Not want deal with swamp trolls.”

Before Thora could ask why, Sindri used his tail to lightly nudge her. “You forest troll, like me!” he chirped.

“How can ya tell?” she questioned, brow rising.

“Your looks!” He nodded at Ormr. “Sea trolls have light skin, dark hair, no tail. Mountain trolls –Ulfr is one!- have darkest skins, biggest tusks, lots of gold or silver…Us forest trolls look like forest! Brownish or reddish skin, hair can be greens, browns, reds, or greys. Longest tails, too!”

“…Was Greta –er, our mum—a forest troll, then?”

Ormr nodded. “Yes. Troll children tend to eh…favor? father’s blood. That why us three are different. But, mother was only troll for you. You favored her blood. Is complicated thing.”

She made a noise of understanding as she took the final drink of her stew. “So…er…why did she send me t’ my da’?” Covering her mouth, she yawned a second time.

Ormr and Sindri exchanged glances with one another, grim expressions replacing their earlier happiness.

“Was dangerous time to be troll,” Sindri told her, all trace of humor gone from his voice. “After battle with Romans, Romans hired troll veiðimenn –ah, hunters- to try and reduce troll leaders.”

“When Ulfr’s father, my father slain,” Ormr continued for him, “mother knew not safe for half-troll baby like you. Were so tiny, so weak…Would not be able to defend yourself. At least, was thought at time.”

Thora rubbed the back of her neck and bit her tongue, looking away. “I take it the troll hunters eventually got t’ her?” She was surprised to hear that there were people who specifically hunted trolls. ‘It makes sense,’ she told herself, ‘especially if there _are_ bad ones like the tales…’

They nodded. “Took ten to bring down. Slew eight in process,” Sindri told her. “Mourned all over continent. Mother was great leader. Troll King and Queen very fond of mother.”

“My da’ an’ uncle told me she was highly respected, even amongst humans.”

“Yes. Mother very fair ruler. Very patient, too. But when angered, run for hills!” Sindri let out a small laugh, a reminiscent look on his face. “Would chase me for miles when child.”

“Sindri was troublemaker,” Ormr told her. “Still troublemaker…Causes much mayhem for fathers and mothers…”

A mischievous grin came to Sindri’s lips. “Can’t help that people are pretty,” he defended, innocence in his voice.

Thora snorted. “Oh dear…How many nieces an’ nephews do I have runnin’ around?” For a third time, she yawned.

Ormr gave Sindri a rather parental look and rolled his eyes. “Thankfully, only ones from Ulfr, but will be some time before meet them. They live with mother’s tribe.”

She nodded in understanding, using her tail to set the half-full mug of soup on the table. “So…er…where will I be sleeping?”

“Ah! Yes! Have bower,” Sindri told her, standing up. “Is not much, since we not know what you like. Will need to get stool for bed. Hope will do, though.” He watched as Thora slid from the chair, a small yelp leaving her mouth when her feet didn’t hit the ground at first. “Are so tiny…” he chuckled, lighting a lantern.

“Anyone is compared t’ the two o’ ya.”

Ormr smiled. “Sleep well, Little Sister Thora.”

“You, too, Ormr.”

Sindri led her to the back of the house and into the hallway leading west. They didn’t go very far when he stopped in front of a door and opened it.

“This your bower,” he told her, holding the lantern up. “Like said, is not much.”

Stepping into the room, Thora found that he was telling the truth. The room was bare, save for a bed, a large chest at its foot, a bedside table, and a chair. Like everything else in the house, all the furniture was much too large for her, but she knew she could manage.

“This is just fine,” she replied, giving Sindri a tired smile.

“Will get more things as need them,” he assured her, moving to set the lantern on her bedside table. “Here. Make stool for you.”

She was about to question what he meant when he raised his hands. His eyes and hands became engulfed by a pale green light; the bedside table began to change. The wood warped and twisted and creaked as it, too, was taken over by the green light and a set of steps was formed by what had previously been a set of shelves. The top now became the final step, but remained wide enough to still act as a table should she need it.

“There!” Sindri chirped, clapping his hands together. “Easy to get into bed now, yes?” He looked down at his sister only to find her jaw slack and her eyes wide. He blinked, confused. “Eh? Little Sister?”

“That was _amazin’_!” she murmured, eyes still wide.

He smiled, though there was a look of concern in his eyes. “Is simple magic. Will be learning soon,” he retorted, patting her atop the head. “Worry about later. Is time for sleep now.” Crouching down, he gave Thora a large hug, being careful so as to not squeeze her _too_ much. “Am glad you finally here, Little Sister Thora. Am looking forward to learning more of you and teaching you.” Letting go, he patted her atop the head again. “If need anything, room is just around corner. In morning, will have servants to help, too.”

She nodded in understanding, smiling. “Thank ya, Sindri. I’m lookin’ forward t’ learnin’ from you lot.” She watched as Sindri gave her a small wave before closing the door behind him. A quiet sigh left her mouth as she headed over the newly-made stool and climbed up the steps. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she couldn’t help but giggle.

‘This thing is gigantic,’ she thought, grinning as she kicked off her boots. ‘You could fit ten people in here with room to spare!’ Flopping backwards onto the pillows, she let out another sigh. ‘It’s comfortable, though. Better than the pallet I had back home. Can’t fault dad for that one, though –it’s not quite time for sheep shearing season and there aren’t enough chickens to pluck for a proper mattress.’

She didn’t bother covering her mouth as she yawned. Reaching down, she pulled the covers up over her body before leaning over. Opening the lantern, she blew out the candle, darkness quickly filling the room.

‘I think I’m going to like it here,’ she thought, drifting off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m _bored_.”

“Yeah…me, too.”

Ylva cocked her brow as she glanced over at her children, who were hanging upside down from one of the rafters. “It’s a lovely day outside. Why don’t ya go for a fly with Barf an’ Belch?”

Tuffnut scrunched up his nose and frowned. “We already did that.”

“Yeah. We even tipped a few yaks. But it wasn’t all that fun,” Ruffnut added.

“Ya could go help your Uncle Bucket an’ Mulch do some fishin’?” she suggested, setting a freshly peeled beet in a wooden bowl. Picking up another beet, she started to peel it. “Ya know they could always use the help now that they have all these extra mouths t’ feed.”

Ruffnut cocked a brow. “Mom, we’re _bored_ , not _desperate_.”

Her own brow rising, Ylva reached over and poked her daughter’s nose with a beet-stained finger. “I’m only offerin’ suggestions,” she retorted, amused by the reddish-pink mark she left. “What have you been learnin’ at the academy?”

Tuffnut snickered. “We learned that if you need to train a Scauldron, get Ruffnut to do it, because she reeks of fish.”

Ruffnut reached over and punched her brother’s arm. “At least I was _useful_!” she retorted.

“Ruffnut, love, no hittin’ your brother,” Ylva lightly scolded. “An’ aye, I remember the two o’ you mentioning that.” Her brow rose, glancing over at her daughter once more, though her eyes focused on Ruffnut’s extremely short hair. “I do wish you’d let me even it out a bit. It’s goin’ t’ grow back an’ be all sorts o’ different lengths.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “No way! Then my hair will be even shorter and people will think _I’m_ the boy.”

Tuffnut rolled his eyes. “There is _no_ way people will think you’re me. You’re not nearly tough enough to be me.”

“Says who?” she demanded, eyes narrowing.

“Says me, duh. You’re _Ruffnut_. I’m _Tuffnut_. I’m the tough one, you’re the rough one.”

Dropping her second peeled beet into the bowl, Ylva rolled her eyes. “And you’re both completely nuts,” she sighed. “Now are ya livin’ up t’ your names, or are your names livin’ up t’ you?” She quietly chuckled, knowing her children didn’t hear her amidst their arguing. She picked up a third beet. “Alright, you two. Stop your arguing. Tuffnut, I’d like ya t’ start makin’ me a brine. Ruffnut, I want your help with these beets.”

There was a soft thud as the twins left their perches and landed –safely- on the ground.

Ruffnut came over to the table, plopping down across from her mother. “What’re you goin’ to do with all these?” she questioned, grabbing a small knife and beginning to peel a beet as well.

“Pickle them,” Tuffnut replied from the other side of the house. “Mom, do you want it to be a salt brine or a vinegar brine?”

“Vinegar, please. Add in some peppercorns, sugar, and rosemary, too, please.”

Ruffnut scrunched her nose up slightly. “We never eat pickled beets. Why’re you making them?”

Ylva shrugged, managing to peel an entire beet without breaking peel spiral. “The other day, Stannis mentioned how it’s been quite a while since he’s had a good pickled beet, so I thought I’d make up a batch t’ share with him.”

Tuffnut frowned, pausing as he poured vinegar into a large pot. “Wait, Stannis as in Stannis Olafson?”

She nodded, not seeing her son’s frown. “Aye, that Stannis.”

He stuck his tongue out. “Why would you want to make _him_ pickled beets? He already smells weird enough as is.”

“Well, with how things have been lately, I thought it’d be nice t’ do a few good deeds t’ help cheer people up,” she replied. “And he only smells weird because he’s the village tanner.”

“Yeah, which means he’s shoving yak skin into vats of pee and who-knows-what else all day,” Tuffnut scorned. “I say save your pickled beets for someone else. They’re not worthy of his pee-hands.” He finished pouring the vinegar into the pot before adding some water and sugar.

Ruffnut snickered, but stopped when Ylva shot her a look. “Tuffnut, that was uncalled for,” she scolded, trying to get back in her mother’s good graces. “Stannis is a hard working guy and…uh…he uh, makes good leather.”

Tuffnut made no audible reply, choosing to instead grumble under his breath while adding a cup of salt to the mixture. He threw a few sprigs of rosemary and a spoonful of peppercorns into the pot before carrying it over to the fire. Setting it on a hook, he grabbed and spoon and stirred the contents together.

Ylva lightly shook her head, not knowing what her son had against Stannis. “These beets are going t’ more folks than just Stannis,” she spoke up after a few minutes of tense silence. “I’m givin’ some t’ Stoick an’ t’ Pála as well. I’d give some t’ Gothi, but beets don’t agree with her anymore.”

“Kind of like me and Outcast food!” Ruffnut grinned.

Cocking her brow, Ylva quietly laughed. “I’m fairly certain the food didn’t agree with ya because it wasn’t cooked properly.”

“Then why did Thora have no problems with it?” she retorted. “She ate it just fine.”

“Well, Thora’s a…bit o’ a _special_ case in that regard. I’m fairly certain thanks t’ her mother’s blood, she can eat a lot o’ things us humans _can’t_. Anyway, Ruffnut, back t’ your statement ‘bout the Outcast food an’ you: It’s different for Gothi. Certain vegetables give her fairly noxious gas.”

Tuffnut snickered. “Bet it can’t beat mine!” he declared. “Mine’s the worst on Berk. Not even Meatlug can handle it.”

Ruffnut scrunched her nose up again. “Ugh. I know. I swear you’re the reason Barf’s fumes don’t mess with my head.”

A proud grin came to her brother’s lips.

Rolling her eyes, Ylva chuckled. “Actually, I’m positive Gothi’s is worse.”

The grin instantly left his mouth. “What?! That’s not possible!” he cried. “I’m the King of Farts –even Hiccup and Fishlegs admit it! Gothi can’t have worse-smelling gas than me!”

“I’m afraid she does.”

He punched his hand into his palm. “That’s it. I need to find a food that can make me have the smelliest farts on Berk again.”

“Or you can just eat a pot of beans!” Ruffnut suggested.

“… _Or_ I can eat a pot of beans,” he agreed. “Mother! I am going to the market to buy myself some beans! I will return shortly!” He started to walk towards the door, but Ylva reached out and snatched his arm.

“Oh, no ya don’t, young man!” she retorted, her voice stern. “I never said I was done with you yet.”

He pouted. “But…but the beans-”

“The beans can wait,” she told him. “I need ya t’ start slicin’ the beets.”

“Why me?”

“Because your sister is helpin’ me peel them. Anyway, you’ll be able t’ say you slew some sort o’ monster or something afterwards.”

Ruffnut cocked a brow. “Why’s that?”

Ylva held up her hands, showing the twins how stained they were just from peeling the beets. She then noticed the handprint she left on her son’s arm and let out a small sigh of disappointment. “That won’t come off for a few days,” she murmured.

Tuffnut, however, didn’t seem fazed –if anything, he seemed eager to help now. Darting to the back of the house, he grabbed a cutting board and a large, sharp knife before making his way back to his mother and sister. Pulling up a stool, he began work on slicing the beets relatively thinly.

“So what’s going to be for dinner?” Ruffnut questioned after a few more minutes of silence. She tossed a beet into the bowl with the others. “Something with pickled beets, I take it?”

Ylva quietly laughed. “Maybe. I was actually thinkin’ o’ fish soup if your uncle comes back with any.”

“White or red soup?” Ruffnut asked.

“White, unless Trader Johann miraculously appears with tomatoes today.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’m kinda missing the red soups…can’t you make it without tomatoes?”

Tuffnut rolled his eyes. “The tomatoes are what make it red, Ruff,” he told her. “Otherwise, it’d just be a weird sort of…greyish brownish color.”

Ruffnut stuck her tongue out at him. “I thought maybe there another vegetable that can used in its place, idiot.”

“I’m not the one who doesn’t know how to cook!”

“I _can_ cook, just not _well_!”

“Pft. I’ve never even seen you fry an egg! How can you say you know how to cook if you’ve never fried an egg?”

“Uh, because I _hate_ fried eggs? Duh! You know I hate how the yolk tastes!” She rolled her eyes. “Sheesh…It’s like you’re not even my brother.”

Tuffnut pouted, glaring at his  sister. “Yeah, well I’ve never seen you make toast or bacon either and I _know_ you love those! Tell me the reason for THAT!”

“Duh! Mom’s always got breakfast made by the time we get up! I _don’t_ have to cook it.” A smug grin came to her lips.

Ylva couldn’t help but crack up laughing at their argument. “Will the two o’ ya stop?” she laughed, having to wipe away a tear of mirth with her forearm. “I know you’re fightin’ with each other, but it’s such a ridiculous argument!”

Her children wore matching pouts, not understanding how their mother thought they were being ridiculous –to them, this was a serious argument. If one didn’t know how to cook, how were they expected to survive?

“Mom,” Tuffnut started, crossing his arms over his chest, “how is Ruffnut supposed to live on her own if she doesn’t know how to cook? She’d end up poisoning herself with one of her weird concoctions!”

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. “Excuse you, I can survive perfectly well on my own!” She accusingly pointed her knife at her brother. “Just because I don’t know how to make some fancy pickling brine or a perfectly crispy roasted boar doesn’t mean I’d make myself sick with my cooking.”

“Will you two _stop_?” Ylva laughed. She had been forced to set aside her knife for fear of accidentally cutting herself. “Both o’ ya can survive just fine on your own an’ Ruffnut can cook well enough t’ not starve. Now, Ruff, love, stop pointin’ that knife at your brother an’ get back t’ peeling. Tuff, you, too.”

She frowned, but did as she was told. Tuffnut, too, went back to work, knowing better than to bring about his mother’s wrath –even if she was currently laughing.

 

* * *

 

 

“No, no! Not like that. Concentrate _too_ hard. Need to…eh, ease up? Yes. Need to ease up. Relax!” Ormr watched as Thora took a deep breath through her mouth only to slowly release it through her nose. As small as she was, she had been forced to sit on the tabletop in order to do her healing lessons. “Feel energy of earth. Let flow up through body. Gather in hands.” When her hands began glowing with a light-blue light, he smiled. “Good! Good. Now put magic into mixture.”

Biting her tongue, Thora set her hands on either side of the stone mortar. At first, nothing seemed to happen and she thought she had failed. But soon, the paste inside began glowing and its scent became more pungent. A small grin came to her face and she looked up at Ormr, waiting to hear if she had done it right.

He nodded, still smiling. “Good. Keep mind: Magic like water. Wants to flow, but don’t let flood and don’t let dry.”

“I’m tryin’,” she told him. “Still a bit hard for me t’ get a good handle on it. Troll magic is different from the human magic I was learnin’.”

“Yes. Human magic come from their own energy. Ours, from earth. That why Sindri, me worried when said were eh…relifing?”

“Revitalizing.”

“Yes. Revitalizing plants. Because are half human, were using own energy to do such. That dangerous. Takes life from self and gives to other.” He shook his head. “Our magic better.” Taking the mortar from his sister, he poured its contents into a large jar. “Are learning fast, Little Sister,” he told her to change the subject. “Helped had good beginnings in healing. Sindri say are learning fast, too.”

She felt her cheeks grow a bit warm at the praise. “It’s a bit easier t’ learn the troll way than the human way,” she admitted. “It feels more… _natural_ , I guess. At least, for magic. The healing stuff ya can blame on Gothi. She was an excellent teacher.”

He nodded in understanding, scraping a much of the paste from the stone as he could. “Most Völva good teachers,” he replied. “Spent lives learning. Know lots. _Want_ to pass on knowledge, since not have families.” Setting the mortar down, he capped the jar as Thora grabbed a damp cloth and started to clean the inside of the mortar.

She cocked her brow. “So it’s the same with the Völva here?” she asked. “They can’t get married because they dedicated their lives t’ the gods an’ t’ healin’?”

“Yes. Time is taken up by magic, by counsel, by healing, by teaching. Little time left for family.” He tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “There difference between us and humans, though. We let males do magic. Not know why humans don’t; the All Father does magic, as does Loki and other gods.”

“I’ve always wondered ‘bout that myself,” Thora commented. “I think it’s rather silly.”

“Maybe human men not have magic?” Ormr suggested with a shrug. “Not know. Do know lesson is over for day.”

She blinked. “Really? But we haven’t been at this very long…”

He smiled at her. “True, but think have done well today. Deserve little break, especially after Sindri lessons.”

Thora cringed at the memory of that morning; she had accidentally filled the garden with oversized slugs. While Sindri had cracked up laughing, some of the servants hadn’t found it so humorous when the slugs started eating their freshly-sprouted herbs and vegetables. After he had regained his breath from laughing, Sindri had rectified the situation and restored the health of the plants.

Ormr lightly patted her on the back. “Why not visit market? Get self some sweets or something. Know Death Dance itching to fly.”

“Good idea,” she chuckled. “Do ya think they’re used t’ seeing a trained dragon yet? The folks o’ the city, I mean.”

He shrugged again, but smiled. “If not, will get used to it.” Taking the mortar from her, he placed the pestle inside it before carrying it over to a shelf. “So, are going to market then?”

“Sure. Like you said, Death Dance has been wanting to go for a fly lately.”

“Then wait just minute.” He disappeared into his room for a few minutes before returning with a small pouch. “Here.” Handing it to her, he couldn’t help but chuckle –small to him was still rather large for her. “Some money,” he told her as she made to peek inside the bag. “Know Ulfr not give some in while. He…” His brows furrowed as he searched for the right word in her language. “He bit…eh, greedy? No. Miserly. Ulfr miserly at times.”

A half-smile came to her lips; she would have chosen a _much_ different word for her eldest brother. “Well…er, he is a chief. It’s his job t’ look over the city’s gold an’ t’ not spend it all randomly.” She hopped down from the table, landing easily on her feet. “Thank-you, though. I appreciate it.”

“Just not spend all at once, yes?”

She chuckled. “Ya don’t need t’ worry about that.” Heading for the door, she stopped when Ormr suddenly spoke again.

“Oh, will do favor while gone?”

Thora turned, looking at her brother. “Hm?”

“Check in at blacksmith? Have ordered new set of copper pots. Want know if are done yet.”

“Sure,” she smiled. “Which blacksmith, though?”

“Jeltsje. She one with human apprentices.”

Nodding in understanding, Thora grabbed her satchel from the floor and shoulder it. “Got it. See ya later, Ormr.” Putting the coin purse in her back, she opened the door to leave.

“Travel safe, Little Sister Thora.”

 

Just a few minutes later found her sitting atop Death Dance as the dragon flew towards the city, which she had come to learn was called Enda Fjarðarins. As its name implied, the city was situated at the very end of a fjord and, as such, was a rather popular trading-place for merchants from all over the European coast. Because of this, it was a much larger and busier place than Berk, being at least ten times the size of the little island village.

In the three months since she had arrived, Thora had learned that the city was home to humans and trolls alike. Sometimes, they would get visitors of other races such as huldra or hulder, elves –even dwarves!- as well as ships from Gaul, Andalusia, and, rarely, the Roman Empire. Despite the close living quarters, she had noticed that there weren’t very many, if any, half-breeds like her. She found it a little odd, but could understand why: Not many of the trolls lived up to the human standard of attractiveness.

Sindri was very much an exception. Any time she accompanied her brother to town, she found that errands took twice as long as they should have due to the constant flirtations he received. More than once, she had been forced to drag him away by the tail (a hard feat, given how much larger he was).

She quietly laughed at the memory, holding onto her saddle as Death Dance did a barrel roll. “Feelin’ perky, are ya?” she teased the dragon, who rolled over once more and soared upside down for a half mile or so. Thora winced somewhat, being forced to tighten her stomach and thigh muscles to keep herself from falling off.

Death Dance let out a delighted roar before righting herself. Climbing higher into the sky, she clacked her jaws and dove towards the earth.

‘I wish there were more dragons around for her to play with,’ Thora thought, squinting her eyes as the air rushed past her face. ‘I wonder why we haven’t seen any since we got here? There were a few when we first reached the mainland, but now…’ She shook her head, withholding a sigh. ‘At least she has fun with the servants. They seem to enjoy throwing branches for her to fetch or things for her to light on fire.’

The Boneknapper lessened her angle, greatly slowing her speed. Opening her wings, she glided the rest of the way down to the earth, landing in an open area in the center of the city. While a few of the citizens let out yelps or curses of surprise, most of the people shrugged the sudden arrival off. Thora was pleased to see they were growing used to Death Dance.

“We’ll fly more after I’ve done some shoppin’,” she told her dragon as she slid off her back. “Feel free t’ fly around the area by yourself –just don’t stray too far, alright?”

Death Dance quietly chirped, nuzzling Thora affectionately. As her rider walked off, she opened her wings and took the sky once more.

Thora smiled, lightly shaking her head as she walked off.

Besides paying a visit to Jeltsje, she didn’t really have anything in particular she _had_ to do. As such, she wandered about the market, inspecting the wares and making polite conversation with the stall owners. A few of them she already knew rather well thanks to her brothers, but her favorite stand, by far, was the one belonging to Kelda, one of Enda Fjarðarins’ best bakers.

“Lady Thora! Nice to see! Would like usual?” the dwarven woman chirped. “Have some still warm!”

A wide grin spread across Thora’s face as she looked over the various baked goods. “Ooh, still-warm cream cakes? Aye, I’ll take one!” she replied.

Kelda flicked a fiery braid over her shoulder before lifting a cloth from a basket.  Steam rose into the air, bringing with it the warm scent of nutmeg. “How are today?” she questioned, pulling a pastry from the basket.

“Doin’ well. Ormr let me escape from lessons early on the condition that I stop by the blacksmith’s for him.” She reached into her bag, fishing around for some coins. “Can I get a mincemeat pie, too?”

An apologetic look came to the dwarven woman’s face. “Am out of mincemeat,” she told her. “Have been, chicken, pork left, though! Would like one of them?”

“Sure. How ‘bout the beef?” Since arriving to the mainland, she had discovered that beef tasted much better than the yak meat she was used to. “So, how’re you doin’? Feelin’ ready t’ pop yet?” She chuckled, stealing a quick peek over the counter at Kelda’s _extremely_ pregnant stomach.

“Ugh. Very,” she sighed. “Can’t wait for child to come, even if will be hard with husband gone.” She managed a small laugh, though Thora could see the sorrow in her eyes. “At least have brother and wife’s help, eh? Know how to handle newborns.” Handing over the meat pie, she took the coins and slipped them into a purse on her belt.

Remembering how she had helped Mrs. Skarsgård deliver her daughter, Hildegard, Thora managed to suppress a shudder. “Newborns are fairly easy,” she assured Kelda. “Tiring, but easy. It’s mostly the nightly feedings that’ll have ya worn out. It’s when they start developin’ their personalities that they get harder t’ handle.”

Cocking her brow, Kelda half-smirked. “Have had watch over babies before, then?”

“Only for one night. Gothi -er, she was my original teacher- was tryin’ t’ save the mother’s life while I did my best t’ tend t’ the child.” She took a bite out of the cream cake, her eyes rolling back and a silly grin coming to her face as the sweet flavors filled her mouth. “I will never get tired o’ these…”

Kelda chuckled, rolling her eyes slightly; Thora had said that every time she ate one of the pastries. “Am glad find them delicious all of time,” she told her. “Most people used to them; not find them as much of treat anymore.”

“Well, those people are wrong.” She took another bite, using her free hand to tuck the meat pie away in her satchel as a few customers approached the stall. “I’ll see ya later, Kelda. Don’t work yourself too hard, alright?”

Kelda was unable to answer, but she gave Thora a small wave before the half troll walked off.

Meandering around the market, Thora soon finished off her pastries. Within the hour, she had bought herself some new earrings as well as some trinkets for her hair. Not wanting to spend all of the money Ormr had given her, she decided it was time to leave the market. Heading for the outskirts of town, she mentally prepared herself for the foul smells and the loud hammering that came from the smithing and tannery district.

‘You’d think I’d be used to the sounds of a smithy by now,’ she thought, shifting her bag on her shoulder. ‘But half a dozen smithies is far different sounding than a single one…and there’s no bad singing to cover up most of the hammering.’ Her nose scrunched up ever so slightly as the sharp, almost acid smell of the tanneries grew stronger. ‘That smell, though, is one that I will _never_ grow used to…’

Turning a corner, she let out a small curse as she bumped into someone. Both of them fell backwards, noises of pain leaving their mouths as they landed on their backsides. Thora bit her tongue and leaned to the side, moving her tail out from beneath her; she glanced at the other person only to find them to be a human male a few years older than her.

The man started to stand up. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized, rubbing his lower back with a wince. “Guess I was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to where I was going.” She was more than a little surprised to hear that he was fluent in her language, though his accent was much different from hers -and yet, it was oddly familiar. Where had she heard it before?

“I should have been payin’ attention, too,” she told him. “So, I think it’s safe t’ say we’re both t’ blame.” She accepted his hand as he offered to help her up. “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do after knockin’ you over,” he chuckled, looking her over. His brow rose slightly as he took in her appearance. “Say, you don’t happen t’ be related to Sindri Gretason, do you?”

She smiled. “Guilty as charged. I’m his little sister.”

The man’s eyes widened in surprise; with them so wide, she couldn’t help but notice that they were a deep, brownish-gold in color. “Little sister? I didn’t know those three had a sister!”

Shrugging, she looked away innocently. “T’ be fair, _I_ didn’t know I had brothers until this year,” she admitted. “I’m from the Barbaric Archipelago.”

He cocked his head and Thora felt her cheeks grow ever so slightly warm -he looked a bit like a lost puppy. “That’s near Britannia, aye? Off its northern coasts?”

“Eh, it’s more like halfway between the mainland an’ Britannia,” she told him. “I’m surprised ya know about it; not many mainlanders do.”

Shrugging, he rubbed the back of his head and wore a goofy grin. “My uncle’s a trader,” he explained. “He tells me he’s one of the few who is brave enough to go trade with the people of the Barbaric Archipelago.”

Her brow rose; there was only _one_ non-native trader for the Archipelago…“Trader Johann is your uncle?” No wonder his accent was familiar!

“My turn t’ be guilty as charged,” he replied. He held out his hand, still smiling. “My name’s Cæna.”

“Thora,” she replied, shaking his hand. “I didn’t know Trader Johann had a nephew. …Didn’t know he had much o’ a family, t’ be honest. He never really speaks ‘bout them.”

“That’s because he’s usually too busy talkin’ about his exploits to talk about us,” Cæna laughed. “I don’t blame him, though; he’s had his fair share of adventure throughout his life.”

“Well, when you’re constantly sailin’ between the end o’ the world an’ the Roman Empire, I’d imagine ya start t’ rack up quite the tales,” Thora smiled. “So, are ya followin’ in his footsteps or is there a different reason you’re so far north?”

He hooked his thumb through his belt and leaned his shoulder against the wall of the building. “Eh, not so much an adventure as a learnin’ experience,” he told her. “Uncle Johann got me an apprenticeship up here under Smith Jeltsje. She’s one o’ the best blacksmiths this side o’ Niðavellir.”

“Ahh…I was actually just headin’ there. Ormr wanted me t’ check on his copper pots.”

He cringed somewhat. “Ah…Actually, I suggest _avoidin’_ her right now. Someone had the gall t’ complain ‘bout the quality of a sword she made and she’s not in the best of moods.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t sound entirely pleasant.”

“It’s not. She sent all us apprentices home early for our own safety. But when you’re half mortal an’ half Valkyrie, your anger is going t’ get the best of ya sometimes.”

Thora’s jaw fell. “Half _mortal_ an’ _Valkyrie_?” she gaped. She had never heard of a Valkyrie having a lover, let alone a child.

Cæna nodded. “Aye. Apparently, she’s the only one o’ her kind.” He ran a hand through his brown hair, unaware that someone was coming up behind him. “Oh, but we’re still workin’ on the pots. Ormr was very specific when he placed an order for them; there’re a _lot_ o’ special details we need t’ add to them. They’ll probably be ready sometime late next week. If need be, we can deliver them; he’s already given us payment.”

“No need. Ormr pick them up himself.”

Cæna froze for a second before turning around and looking up. Ulfr stood behind him, his scarred brow raised as he looked down at the human. “Lord Ulfr! You gave me a bit o’ a fright!” he nervously chuckled. “What brings you t’ this part of town?”

“That is my business,” Ulfr replied, tone cold. He then turned his gaze to his sister; seeing her somewhat flushed cheeks, he made a small noise of discontent. “See lessons ended early,” he told her, his voice only a touch warmer.

She gave him a small smile. “Aye. After this mornin’, Ormr thought I could use a wee bit o’ a break,” she explained. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, glancing away from the two males. “I was plannin’ on takin’ Death Dance for a fly when I was done here.”

“Death Dance?” Cæna questioned, once more cocking his head.

“Dragon,” Ulfr answered. Walking past the human, he set his hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Come. Want talk with you before go for fly,” he told her, starting to lead her off.

Thora glanced over her shoulder, waving at Cæna. “See ya around,” she smiled.

He grinned, waving in return. “See you.” He winked at her, his grin growing larger as he watched her cheeks grow darker.

 

* * *

 

 

Ylva let out a quiet sigh. Tonight was one of the rare nights when her house was quiet, but unlike other times, the silence was _not_ welcome. Her children were out on a mission with the other dragon riders. They had gotten word of a potential attack on Berk and, as such, they were out spying on the Berserkers and the Outcasts.

That had been four days ago.

Poking at the fire, Ylva brought a knee up to her chest. She stared into the flames, doing her best to not think about the danger Ruffnut and Tuffnut were in or the lack of news they had received. Worrying would only make her stomach feel more upset and she had already had problems with eating.

Instead, she wondered how the parents of the other riders felt; she wondered if they felt as scared as she did. If Stoick was pacing in front of his hearth as he waited for Hiccup to return. If Hroðgar and Auða Hofferson were staring at untouched plates of dinner while thinking of their youngest daughter. If Hjördis Ingerman was laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the night enveloped her. If Spitelout Jorgenson was concerned for his son’s wellbeing or if he was too hardened from years of battle to care much.

‘Maybe I should try talking to some them sometime?’ she asked herself. ‘At least get to know them a bit better. After all, it’s our children that are out there, risking their necks. It’d be nice to have someone else to talk to who knows what I’m feeling…’

A knock at the door made her jump and gasp in surprise. “Who’s there?” she called out, brows furrowed. It was nearly midnight; who would be calling at _this_ hour?

“It’s me,” came the familiar voice of Bucket. “Can I come in? Or did I wake ya? If I woke ya, I can leave…”

Getting to her feet, she crossed the room and unbarred the door. “O’ course you can come in, silly.” She wore a tired smile as he stepped into the house. “But why are ya here so late? You should be sleepin’, Bucket. Was Mulch snorin’ too loud for ya again?”

He shook his head, fingers nervously grasping at his hook. “I couldn’t sleep. Not because of Mulch.” His cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he stared down at his hook, still fumbling with it nervously. “I’m sorry, Ylva, I know I should be sleepin’, but I just couldn’t. I had t’ come check on you.”

“Check on me?” she repeated, a small laugh leaving her mouth as she closed and barred the door again. She pretended to not notice his blush; Bucket was easily embarrassed, especially around her. Most men were. “Why did ya need t’ check on me?” She motioned for him to have a seat.

“Well…I wanted t’ see how you were doin’.” He peeked over at her as she poured him a cup of water before moving to sit in his normal spot at the table. “I know you don’t like it when the twins are gone on missions. Especially ones that last more than a few hours.”

Ylva sat down across from him, sliding the cup across the table. “Well, you’re right on that part,” she admitted with a sigh. “It just worries me that they’re out there without someone more…well, experienced. Hiccup’s a good lad an’ all, but he’s not an adult. He doesn’t have the knowledge o’ battle that we do.”

Bucket nodded in understanding before taking a small drink of the water. “It’s scary,” he admitted. “I’m worried, too. It’s why I came. I’m worried about them _and_ you. So I thought…” His cheeks went a bit pinker, but again, Ylva pretended to not notice. “I thought we could be worried _together_.”

A warm smile came to her lips. “It was a good thought,” she told him. “An’ one I appreciate greatly. I was gettin’ too lonely sittin’ here by myself.”

He smiled, glad to hear that she welcomed his company. “I’m glad I didn’t wake ya or somethin’. I woke up Mulch by accident. He was so mad, he threatened to knock my bucket halfway t’ Valhalla!”

She quietly laughed, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forward slightly. “That I do _not_ doubt. I have never seen a man who loves t’ sleep more than Mulch. How did ya wake him?”

His cheeks grew darker and he looked away, a guilty expression on his face. “I accidentally kicked Marigold.” As the memory filled his mind, his eyes widened. “But I didn’t mean to!” he quickly added. “I couldn’t see her. It was dark an’ I had no candle.”

Reaching across the table, she lightly patted his forearm. “I’m sure, come mornin’, Mulch _an’_ Marigold will forgive ya,” she assured him. “Anyway, it’s Mulch’s fault for not leavin’ ya any light t’ see by! What if he was the one who had kicked that old chicken on one o’ his quests for the loo, eh?” She plucked a piece of lint from the arm of her dress.

Bucket smiled; thanks to his beard, she could only see the expression thanks to his raised cheeks. “He’s done that a time or two,” he told her. “Always tried t’ blame it on me, but I wasn’t the one fumblin’ around. Nope. It was him.”

She nodded in understanding, watching as he took another drink of water. “How was fishin’ today?” she asked him. “Get anythin’ good t’ smoke or cure?”

He shook his head, setting the cup down. “No…nothin’ good today.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Gothi says t’ expect the whale migration soon, though. That’ll be good for us. But we’ll need more help, then. Can’t haul a whale home with just to Vikings. Need someone t’ steer the ship.”

“Oh, that’s good! That’ll be a lot o’ meat t’ save up for winter.” Glancing past him, she checked on the fire to see if it needed any more wood. “Maybe I can convince the twins t’ help ya? Or, if not them, Gobber. It’d give the poor bloke somethin’ t’ do that _isn’t_ dealin’ with dragon breath.” She found that it was still well-fed and let out a small sigh.

Bucket’s brows furrowed slightly as he watched her. The worry and exhaustion was written all-too obviously on her face. Something deep inside his bucket tried to come to the surface, but the injury he received years ago stopped it before he could recognize it.

A feeling of great concern and love managed to slip by, however, and he found himself reaching across the table. It wasn’t the first time he had felt such a thing towards Ylva; he often found himself thinking about her throughout the day. Sometimes, he even grew jealous if he saw another man flirting with her. But he never acted on his feelings. She was far too beautiful to love a halfwit like him. It was already enough of a blessing that she allowed him to be a part of her and the twins’ lives.

“Bucket?” Ylva’s brows furrowed as she saw him staring at her. “Are ya alright? Is your head startin’ t’ hurt?”

Coming out of his thoughts, he shook his head. “No, no. My head’s fine,” he assured her. “I was just thinkin’ about how tired you looked.” He frowned, realizing he had said that aloud, and bonked himself on the forehead with the back of his hook. “No, Bucket! Ya don’t go pointin’ that out!” he scolded himself. “Bad Bucket!”

Reaching across the table, Ylva set her hand on his arm, gently forcing it back down to rest on the table. “It’s fine, love,” she told him, her voice soothing. “Ya know ya can talk like that t’ me. I don’t mind.” She gave him a small smile and watched as his eyes softened.

Unconsciously, Bucket raised his hand. He brushed a few strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m just worried about ya,” he told her, his voice quiet. “You spend all day carin’ for people only t’ come home and spend all night worryin’ ‘bout the twins. You haven’t gotten enough rest.” He made to pull his hand away, but Ylva held it in place.

Pressing her cheek into his palm, she closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. With the way Bucket spoke and the way he looked at her, she was reminded of the days when he was still Knút. “Ya needn’t worry about me,” she quietly told him. “I’ve been able t’ handle myself well enough for the last sixteen years. I’ll be fine.”

Bucket tilted his head, watching her. Her skin was warm against his palm. And soft. He didn’t think he could remember feeling anything so soft; not even a newborn lamb could compare. He let his thumb lightly caress her cheek and a smile came to Ylva’s lips.

Something inside his mind told him that he had missed this sort of touch, but he couldn’t remember ever having held another person’s face in his hand. He let his eyes fall shut, a smile still on his lips. He wondered if this was what it was like to have a wife -being a halfwit and all. But something about the moment felt oddly familiar to him, as impossible as that was.

“Bucket? Are ya alright, love?”

Opening his eyes, he blinked as he found Ylva staring at him worriedly. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from her cheek and glanced away, once more fiddling with his hook. “I’m fine,” he told her, not knowing that she could tell he was lying.

“Are ya sure?” she questioned again. “Ya look a bit…well, a bit _lost_ t’ be honest.”

Using his hook, he scratched the back of his bucket, avoiding Ylva’s gaze. “Nope. Not lost at all!” He forced a smile only for it to falter as Ylva set her hand atop his.

“Bucket, what’s wrong?” she quietly asked, concern on her features. “You’re not actin’ normal. An’ don’t try t’ avoid answerin’ me, because I know ya too well.”

He fell silent, looking down at his hook. He could feel that his cheeks had turned pink, but he didn’t care. Once more fidgeting with his hook, he tried to come up with some sort of reply -it was hard, though, because he didn’t really know _what_ was wrong with him.

“I…” he began, but faltered. Somewhat pouting, he furrowed his brows and stared at the table. “I don’t know.”

Ylva cocked her head. “Ya don’t know?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t. I’m tryin’ to know, but it’s not working. I _want_ to know, but I think my bucket is stopping me.”

“How do ya mean…?”

“It feels like—it feels like there’s somethin’ I _should_ know, but I’m not tellin’ myself _what_ it is. I know I should know it because it feels familiar. A few minutes ago felt familiar. A good familiar. But I know it can’t be familiar. No woman’s let me be that close to her before because o’ my bucket. So it’s impossible for it to have been familiar.”

Ylva’s cheeks suddenly turned dark red and she bit her lip, looking away from him. “Did it…?” she quietly asked.

Bucket saw tears starting to well up in her eyes and he started to panic. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean t’ make ya cry, Ylva!” He stumbled to his feet and hurriedly searched around for a piece of clean cloth. Finding one, he reached over and gently dabbed at her now-wet cheeks. “Please don’t cry, Ylva. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry!”

She let out a small, choked laugh. “There’s nothin’ for ya t’ be sorry about, love,” she reassured him.

He frowned, still trying to dry her tears, despite how they continued to flow freely. “I made ya cry,” he told her, despair in his voice.

Shaking her head, Ylva took the cloth from him and blew her nose in it. “It wasn’t you who made me cry,” she told him, wiping her cheek on her sleeve. “I promise it wasn’t ya. It was all me. I’ve been hidin’ somethin’ from ya -somethin’ I should have told ya long ago, but never had the courage t’ say.”

His brows furrowed more. “What do-” He was abruptly silenced as Ylva kissed his forehead -or, rather, the bottom of his bucket. His cheeks turned bright pink; she had never done that before.

An apologetic smile came to her lips as she looked up at him. “Bucket, I think it’s about time I told ya ‘bout who you were _before_ ya got your bucket.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ulfr cocked a brow as he watched his little sister. She stood some ways away, her eyes shut and brows furrowed in concentration. A pale, blue light surrounded her entire body, yet nothing was taking place. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, either. For three weeks, he had been trying to teach her how to shapeshift, but each time proved fruitless.

After nearly quarter of an hour, the light suddenly went out and she fell to the ground, panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He said nothing as he continued to watch her, his arms crossed over his chest and his tail slowly waving behind him. Thora glanced up at him, a mixture of frustration and guilt on her face.

It took her a few minutes, but she soon forced herself to get back to her feet. She held out her arms in an effort to steady herself and closed her eyes again. Seconds later, she was once more engulfed by the blue aura.

Ulfr started to circle her, his brows knitting together as he silently watched her. He couldn’t figure out _why_ she wasn’t changing forms. After three weeks, she should have been able to at _least_ alter the shape of her nose, but there she stood -wholly unchanged. Her lessons with Sindri were going rather well, so he knew it wasn’t a lack of magic.

“Stop,” he commanded after a few minutes.

She frowned, opening an eye to steal a peek at him. “But I think I’m-”

“Said _stop_ ,” he growled.

Swallowing hard, Thora let the magic flow out of her body and back into the earth.

Ulfr continued to circle around her. “Sit. Have drink.” He pulled a flask from his belt and tossed it into her lap as she sat down.

Opening the flask, Thora took a long drink only to somewhat regret it. A disgusting mixture of floral and earthy tastes coated her tongue and throat, filling her body with a pleasant warmth. The exhaustion she had been feeling slowly began to leave her limbs and her breathing evened out.

“Are wanting magic to change self, yes?” her brother questioned, his tone betraying his irritation.

“Wantin’ it badly,” she answered, corking the flask. She let out a rather unladylike belch, wincing at the sound. “Excuse me…”

Running a hand through his hair, Ulfr let out a heavy sigh. “Have picture of what want change self into, yes?”

She nodded.

“What is picture?”

Thora felt her cheeks go dark and she avoided her brother’s gaze. “A human version o’ myself.”

“Is always same picture?” he continued to inquire. “Nothing change?”

“Er…for the most part…”

His brow rose and he stopped in mid-step. “What mean?”

She shrugged innocently. “Er…well, sometimes I picture havin’ different sorts o’ features…like smaller hips or er,” she mumbled the next part, despite knowing he could still hear her, “bigger breasts…” She let out a small yelp and tumbled sideways as Ulfr thwacked her with his tail.

“That problem!” he told her. “Picture must stay, how say…always steady?”

“Consistent?” she offered, pushing herself upright once more. She knew he didn’t mean to knock her over, but she still wore a pout.

“Yes! Picture must stay consistent.” He knelt down before her and poked the top of her chest with his finger. “If picture always changing, magic get confused,” he told her, a bit of patience returning to his voice. “If magic get confused, magic _stop_ and self stays same. Understand?”

Thora nodded. “So, er…basically, if I want t’ change somethin’ o’ my own, I got settle on it beforehand?”

He nodded. “Yes. Settle first, magic second.” Pointing at the flask, he stood upright once more. “Now, take drink again. Settle on picture. Try one more time before release you for day.”

Scrunching her nose up at the thought of taking another drink of the potion, Thora remained silent and did as she was told. This time, however, she took a bigger drink; despite hating the taste, she had to admit the potion worked well to revitalize her energy. After closing the flask once more, she made to stand up, but Ulfr used his tail to keep her on the ground.

“No reason for standing,” he told her. There was an unusual hint of humor in his voice, making her cock a brow. “Can do magic sitting.”

Thora nodded in understanding before closing her eyes. As she did so, she bit her tongue and pictured herself as a human once more. This time, she did her best to make sure none of the details changed when she began summoning the magic up from the earth.

Slowly, her body started to change. She couldn’t feel it, but Ulfr could see his little sister beginning to shrink in size. After a minute, she was no more than six feet tall. A few more seconds passed and her tail was gone. Her tusks disappeared into her mouth and her long, pointed ears became short and rounded.

“Good job, Little Sister Thora.”

Her eyes opened and she looked up at him; it was odd seeing him with a smile. “It…it worked?” she questioned. He nodded. “I don’t _feel_ any different…” she murmured, inspecting her arms and her legs. As she stood up, though, she could tell something had changed -Ulfr looked larger than before and she was suddenly forced to hold her skirt and top up. “Oh. There it is…”

“Not look much different,” he told her, “but do look human now.”

“Do I do the same thing t’ change back?”

He shook his head, seriousness returning to his face. “Must dispel. Sindri teach dispel yet?”

“Aye. It was one o’ the first things he taught me.”

“Good. Dispel only way to -how say goodly? Correctly? Yes.- correctly change back.” He tucked some of his hair behind his ear with his tail. “Not everyone know how they look. May think self is different than true self. That why only dispel to return to correct self.”

She nodded in understanding, doing her best to keep her both her garments in place. Ulfr wouldn’t care if she let them fall -trolls didn’t have the same taboos regarding nudity as humans- but she was still growing used to bearing her midriff, arms, and legs let alone her whole body. “Alright. So, does this have a duration or can I just dispel it whenever I want? Also, are their limits t’ shapeshiftin’, like size-wise?”

Ulfr was silent for a minute as he mulled over the latter question. Centuries ago, when he had been learning how to shapeshift, he had never thought to question his mother about possible limitation. Trolls had almost as much magic as jötunns did; _were_ there limitations to shapeshifting?

“Not know answer to second question,” he admitted. “Shapeshifting last as long as are able to keep magic up, so can last forever if only make -how say…tiny change? Eh, not major…”

“Minor changes?”

He nodded. “Yes. Can last forever if only make minor changes.” Hearing an unfamiliar voice coming from the front of the house, he glanced over his shoulder. “Eh…suggest dispel change now. That human man here. Humans have weird ways about bodies.”

Her cheeks darkening somewhat, Thora quickly dispelled the magic. “‘Human man’?” she repeated. “Ya mean Cæna?” she questioned, adjusting her top so that it sat properly on her shoulders.

Ulfr’s brow rose as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. Sound surprised.” With his tail, he reached over and pulled his sister’s hair out of her face as she twisted her skirt around. “Not expecting him?”

“N-not really,” she half-lied. To be honest, she had been _hoping_ Cæna would come calling. Since they had met nearly two months ago, the two had become fast friends. She had been surprised to learn that he had been in Enda Fjarðarins for nearly five years by the time she arrived. “I wonder what he wants?”

“Best go see,” Ulfr murmured, turning and heading for the front of the house. Thora followed behind him, practically having to sprint to keep up with him. Ulfr may have been the smallest of her brothers, but he still stood a good six feet taller than her.

“Afternoon, Lord Ulfr!” Cæna chirped when they rounded the corner. “An’ afternoon to ya too, Lady Thora.” Thora could see he looked more than a little nervous as Ulfr approached.

“Why have come here?” Ulfr demanded, brow raised. “Are making delivery?”

Sindri shook his head and answered for the human. “He here for Little Sister Thora,” he explained. “Ulfr, could use help inside.”

Before his brother had the chance to protest, Sindri grabbed Ulfr’s wrist and yanked him into the house, hurriedly closing the door behind them. Thora cocked a brow, unsure why he had acted so strangely.

“So…er, ya wanted t’ speak with me?” she spoke, giving Cæna an apologetic smile.

A somewhat silly grin came to his lips and he innocently glanced away, his thumbs hooked through his belt. “Well, ah…I got off work early an’ with it bein’ such a nice day, I was wonderin’ if ya wanted t’ go on a walk with me?”

“That sounds lovely,” she replied, her tail unconsciously raising up. “Let me grab my satchel an’ let my brothers know, alright? I’ll meet ya down by the gate.”

He nodded in understanding. “Sounds good! Oh, an’ if your dragon wants, she can come, too. I remember ya sayin’ she likes t’ explore.” He gave her another smile before starting off down the hill.

Thora felt her cheeks darken; he had remembered a such small detail like that? She bit her tongue, allowing a small, shy smile to creep across her face. Turning, she opened the door to go inside only to jump back with a curse as Ormr and Sindri fell to the ground like a pair of logs.

“Were…were ya two listenin’ in on us?” she stammered, eyes wide.

“May….be…?” Sindri replied, doing his best to look innocent. He only succeeded in looking like he was in pain -as he probably was, because Ormr was shoving himself upright on his back.

Cocking her hip, Thora crossed her arms over her chest. “So, instead o’ listenin’ t’ us from across the house, the two o’ ya stand with your ears on the door?”

“Door too thick. Can’t hear from across house,” Ormr retorted, pulling Sindri to his feet. Reaching over, he grabbed Thora’s satchel and handed it to her. “Be back before supper. Know what do if get in trouble, yes?”

“Aye, I do,” she sighed, taking her bag. “Why were the two o’ ya even listenin’ in the first place?”

Brushing some dirt from his chest, Sindri grinned cheekily. “Wanted to make sure Little Sister Thora is making friends!” he chirped. “Have been worried may be keeping home too much, but we glad to see not true!”

Rolling her eyes, Thora couldn’t help but chuckle at their concern. “I’ll have ya know that Cæna isn’t my only friend here,” she informed them. “Kelda the baker has become another friend, as well as plenty o’ the servants.” Using her tail, she pulled some hair over her shoulder.

“Good!” Ormr smiled. “Now go. Do take Death Dance. She could use fun.” He made a shooing motion with his hands before closing the door behind Thora.

‘They’re acting odd,’ she thought, starting down the hill. Putting a hand to her lips, she let out a shrill whistle. Seconds later, she could hear the distant sound of Death’s roar; she smiled. ‘Oh well. Trolls have their moments of oddity, just like humans.’

When she reached the bottom of the hill, she found Cæna standing with his back to her as he hurried finger-combed his hair.

“You’ll never get all the metal shavings out o’ it if ya keep usin’ your fingers,” she joked.

He turned around, cheeks turning a bit red when he realized she had caught him. “Ah, well, it was worth a try,” he chuckled, grinning. “Stuff itches like crazy sometimes. Downside t’ workin’ in a smithy, I guess.” Glancing skyways, he searched for the Boneknapper. “Will Death Dance be joinin’ us?”

Thora shrugged. “More than likely. I gave her a whistle, but she sounded pretty far off.” She adjusted her satchel, feeling her cheeks grow a bit warm as she realized that Cæna wore no shirt under his vest. Not that she blamed him -it was a rather warm autumn day. “She can catch up t’ us if ya wanted t’ start walkin’.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Do ya mind if we head down t’ the beach? The air’s cooler there.”

“I don’t mind in the least. In fact, I’d welcome it.” She followed after him as he started walking down the path into the forest. “So, how was work today?”

He shrugged. “Better than yesterday. Jeltsje _finally_ kicked Olaf out o’ his apprenticeship yesterday, so we were all in good spirits.”

“Oh, about time! I’m surprised he even lasted this long with how lazy an’ rude he is.”

Cæna nodded. “Oh, yeah. You should have seen it! He got so mad, he tried to punch her!”

Thora’s eyes widened in horror. “ _What!?_ ”

Again, he nodded. “Don’t worry -not only is he a poor aim, but he’s also got a bad reaction time. Jeltsje grabbed one o’ the metal plates I was workin’ on an’ used it as a shield. Olaf ended up getting thrown out with a broken hand an’ a shattered ego.” He grinned mischievously. “Jeltsje also swore she’d make sure he never got an apprenticeship in this city again.”

“Good!” She shook her head, her ears picking up the sound of Death Dance’s wingbeats. “A rat like him doesn’t deserve an apprenticeship, unless it’s t’ a pig farmer -an’ that only because he can spend his days shovelin’ crap.”

Cæna laughed, rolling his eyes. “I think even _that’s_ too good for him.” He glanced over at Thora, his grin softening a bit -though she didn’t seem to notice. “What about ya? How’s your day been?”

“A bit stressful, t’ be honest.” She ran a hand through her hair, her nose scrunching up slightly at the memory of her lessons.

He frowned. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Eh, just my lessons gettin’ harder. It’s nothin’ I can’t handle…Though, if ya see any colorful clouds o’ smoke from this direction, it’s _probably_ me.”

Cringing at the thought, he reached up and over, lightly patting her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s nothin’ worse than any of your brothers did when they were first learning,” he assured her. “I mean, everyone makes mistakes now and then. And how bad of a mistake can colored smoke be?”

Her brow rose. “If it’s black, green, or yellow smoke, it can be fairly bad. I learned that thanks t’ my friends’ Hideous Zippleback.”

“The Zippleback…that’s the one with two heads, right?”

She nodded. “One breaths gas, the other sparks it. Have ya not seen one before?”

“There aren’t many dragons where I’m from,” he admitted. “The ones I’ve mostly seen have been small ones, like Fireworms, Glow-Worms, Terrible Terrors, and Poisonous Piffleworms.”

“…Poisonous what-a-whats?” She looked at him, a great amount of confusion on her face.

Cæna looked stunned. “There aren’t Poisonous Piffleworms in the Barbaric Archipelago?”

“If there are, we haven’t found them yet.”

“Strange. They’re small dragons, about the size o’ my hand. Their poison is so potent, you’ll be dead in less than a second.” He shook his head. “Ya normally don’t see them coming, either, because they blend in with the grass. They’re not too common down in Gaul, thank the gods, but Uncle Johann has told me they’re more plentiful towards the heart of the Roman Empire.”

Thora stuck her tongue out. “O’ course they are…seems all bad things are more plentiful the closer ya get t’ that place.”

He chuckled, putting his hands behind his head. “Most Romans aren’t too bad. They’re just like us, only their women don’t seem to have as many freedoms as our women. It’s mostly their leaders who’re the annoying ones. But, that can be said for plenty o’ rulers throughout the known world.”

She nodded approvingly. “That is true,” she said. “I’m just a bit biased against them, I guess. After hearin’ my da’ an’ uncle talk about fightin’ against them, though, it’d be hard t’ not be biased.” Tilting her head somewhat, she listened for her dragon. Death Dance’s wingbeats sounded closer, but not by much. “So, you’ve been t’ Rome…?”

Cæna grinned innocently. “Yeah. Uncle Johann took me when I was thirteen. It’s really a gorgeous place. They get a _lot_ more sun than us, so many o’ the people have lovely, golden skin…The noble-born folk, though, try to stay as pale as possible.”

Thora’s brow rose. “Really? That’s…a bit weird, t’ be honest.”

“Well, for them, being pale means you have enough money t’ pay people to do the outside work for you,” he explained. “An’ when I say the nobles are rich, I mean it. Some o’ the houses I saw would put our longhouses to shame. They’ve got marble pillars, different rooms for different things, and so much mosaic work!” He shook his head, a wishful sigh leaving his mouth.

“I bet it was warmer down there than up here, too,” she quietly laughed. “From what I’ve heard, no one in Rome wears trousers.”

“It’s mostly true,” he admitted. “But, you are right about the heat. I almost had t’ forgo my trousers when we visited, it was that hot! Ah, but the heat was worth it. Everything and everyone was beautiful.” Stealing a glance over at Thora, he allowed a bit of a mischievous grin to come to his lips. “Though, I must say, no one in Rome can compare t’ the beauty of the women here in Enda Fjarðarins. There’s one in particular-”

He was cut off as Death Dance roared. Glancing over her shoulder, Thora let out a curse and suddenly pushed Cæna to the ground just in time to avoid being ran into by Death Dance. The Boneknapper had opened her wings just a touch too late during her dive, making her landing too fast to be graceful.

Death Dance awkwardly landed a few yards away, a startled look on her face as she was forced to hobble even further before coming to a complete stop. She turned, giving the pair an apologetic look.

“Came in too fast again, did ya?” Thora questioned from the ground, her brow raised.

Death Dance pitifully clacked her jaws. Walking over, she gently picked up Cæna by the back of his vest, setting him on his feet. She did the same for Thora before hanging her head and apologetically nuzzling her.

“You know,” Cæna smiled, “for a dragon, she’s really emotional. All the dragons I’ve ever seen were fearsome brutes.”

Thora scratched under Death Dance’s jaw, letting the dragon know she was forgiven. “That’s what we thought ‘bout dragons, too. Then my cousin tamed one an’ then we learned that we were completely wrong ‘bout that.” As the Boneknapper pulled back, she readjusted her satchel. “Turns out, dragons are more like oversized puppies than monsters.”

He nodded in understanding. “I do believe I’m comin’ to realize that,” he told her. As he stared up at the dragon, still awed by her sheer size and her skeletal appearance, he failed to see the mischievous smirk come to Thora’s lips.

“You’ve never flown on a dragon, have ya?” she questioned.

“O’ course not.” He turned back towards her, his brow cocked.

Doing her best to replace the impish look with innocence, she tucked some hair behind her ear. “Well, why don’t I take ya for a short fly t’ the beach? It wouldn’t be more than five minutes an’ you’d get a taste o’ dragon riding.”

His cheeks turned a bit pink. “You’d…you’d let me ride on her?” he gaped, eyes widening.

Thora headed to the side of Death Dance, who instinctively lowered herself to the ground. “Aye! There’s more than enough room on her for ya t’ find a spot.” Climbing up the bones, she sat herself down on the saddle. “I promise I won’t let ya fall off, either.”

Cæna was visibly apprehensive about climbing onto the back of a dragon. He knew Death Dance was gentle and wouldn’t hurt him without cause, but at the same time, he had been raised to fear dragons and to stay as far away from them as possible. Riding one was almost certainly a death sentence back home in Gaul.

But, he trusted Thora. As she held out her hand towards him to help him up, he let out a small sigh and stepped forward, taking her hand. Scaling the dragon was a bit easier than he anticipated; her bones made it quite like climbing a ladder.

“You comfortable?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder once Cæna had gotten himself situated.

“Pretty much. I kind of feel like I’m ridin’ a horse. A very _big_ horse,” he chuckled.

Once again, he was oblivious to the smirk on her lips. “Good. Now, you’re goin’ t’ want t’ hold on.”

“Hold on where?” he frowned, not enjoying the laughter in her voice.

“Anywhere!” A laugh left her mouth as Death Dance suddenly took to the air, drawing a frightened cry from Cæna. She then let out a small curse as he latched onto her waist, holding on for dear life and practically forcing the air from her lungs in the process. ‘Only fair,’ she thought, scrunching her nose up.

Death Dance soon eased up her speed, allowed Cæna to relax a bit before she climbed higher into the sky. She clacked her jaws excitedly before tucking her wings in and diving towards the earth. Unfurling them about a hundred yards above the ground, she soared upwards a second time, climbing even higher than before. She then thrust herself forward through the air, spinning like an arrow.

The whole time, Cæna was screaming and Thora was laughing. At first, Cæna’s screams had been ones of pure terror, but by the third time Death Dance rolled through the air, they had turned into cries of joy. When she finally landed on the beach -some fifteen minutes later- the human was more than a little hesitant to end the flight.

“That was amazing!” he cried as Thora climbed off the dragon’s back. “We were up so high an’ goin’ so fast -Is that what eagles and hawks feel like, I wonder?” He jumped down, landing easily in the sand. “And everything looked so small from up there! I actually felt tall for once!”

Thora chuckled, doing her best to tame her windblown hair. “Cæna, you’re a good six feet tall. How can ya _not_ feel tall?”

Cocking his brow, he looked up at her. “Gee, I wonder why?” he sarcastically replied. There was a smile still on his lips, however. “But honestly, Thora -you’ve got t’ teach me how to train a dragon. I don’t think I can go through life without one o’ my own now.”

“I…am not the best person for teachin’ you that,” she admitted, giving up on her hair. “All dragons are different. It was pure luck that I ended up with Death Dance, anyway.” She reached over, patting the nose of the Boneknapper. A few seconds later, Death Dance pulled back and waddled off to go search for clams or crabs in the sand.

Cæna snapped his finger. “Oh well. Means I’ll just have t’ ask you to go flying from now on instead of walks,” he replied, wearing a cheeky grin.

Thora felt her cheeks darken a little, but laughed. “Oh, so now you’re just goin’ t’ use me for my dragon? That’s not very nice o’ ya.”

“Oh, come now: I’m usin’ ya for plenty more than just your dragon!” He waved his hand in a dismissive, but joking, manner. “There’s your witty banter, your good conversation, your suggestions for quickly healin’ burns-” He suddenly laughed, smacking his forehead. “Oh, an’ how could I forget the most important one?! Your smile!”

She blinked, her cheeks visibly growing darker now. “M-my smile?” she repeated, confused. “Wh-what about my smile?”

A sincere smile came to his lips as he looked up at her. “Oh, just the fact that it’s one o’ the loveliest sights t’ see after long day of toiling over a hot forge.” He started to walk down the sandy beach only to motion at her to follow. “C’mon; I know a great tidal pool area where we can get some fresh crabs!”

Thora’s cheeks were so hot and so dark, someone could have easily mistaken the blush for a sunburn. Biting her tongue, she allowed a shy smile to grace her lips as she hurried after the human.

The gods, it seemed, were finally giving her a break.

 

* * *

 

 

“You say your daughter is off in Enda Fjarðarins?”

Gobber took a long drink from his mug of ale, letting out a less-than quiet belch afterwards. “Yep. She left nearly ten months ago,” he replied, half his brow rising as he glanced over at Trader Johann. “I’m surprised ya didn’t hear ‘bout it, what with her bein’ gone so long.”

“Well, I knew she was away from the Archipelago -that much Hiccup and those blasted twins told me,” he explained, daintily cutting up a leg of yak, “but they had failed to mention where, exactly, it was she was going. I thought it was a bit peculiar, to be honest, since she had been locked up on Outcast Island for so long.”

Shrugging, Gobber stabbed his own leg of yak with his forked hand attachment. “It was a prearranged arrangement,” he told him. “Almost a year ago today, actually, we found out that her brothers would be willin’ t’ teach her troll magic an’ that sort o’ thing.” He took a large bite out of the meat, frowning when he found his stone tooth stuck fast in the meat. Using his good hand, he pulled it out and set it on his plate as he chewed.

“Very peculiar, indeed!” Johann said, more to himself than to Gobber. He took a bite out of the yak meat only to half-way close his eyes and frown ever so slightly. Grabbing the nearby bowl of salt, he grabbed a pinch and sprinkled it over his plate.

“Huh?” His half-brow rose even higher. “How so?”

Swallowing the bite, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Well, you’ll remember that I was the one who brought Thora to you in the first place,” he explained, “only, when I had received her, it had been in the port city of Trondheim. Enda Fjarðarins is much further north.” He was silent for half a minute, doing his best to recall the day he had been given a sack of gold, a sack of supplies, and a swaddled baby to deliver to Gobber. “Then again, at the time, I hadn’t realized it was the great Greta Peace-Bringer that I had run into…Though, I wouldn’t have thought her to be your _type_ , Gobber.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. I’m just still left surprised that sweet little Thora is related to Ulfr the Unforgiving.”

Gobber nearly choked on his second drink of ale. “Ulfr the _what_?” he demanded, eyes wide.

“Unforgiving,” Johann repeated. He held up his hands, motioning for Gobber to remain seated, despite his sudden onslaught of anger and concern. “Don’t you worry -it’s a name given in reference to how he treats his enemies. Lord Ulfr is a very fair ruler and well loved, much like his mother before him. The title comes from his…how should I put it? His _detestation_ for those who murdered his mother and fathers.”

Frowning, Gobber took another bite of the yak leg, though it was smaller than his first. “She was _murdered_? I thought she died o’ natural causes!” he exclaimed through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, heaven’s no! Greta was in the prime of her life, still fairly young by troll standards!” Johann cut up some more meat, scooping a bit onto his spoon along with some pieces of roasted carrot and parsnip. “She was less than a millennium old; she had _centuries_ of life left to her. But, alas!” He shook his head before eating his spoonful of food.

“Who did it?”  Using his knife, he stabbed a parsnip and took a large bite from it before giving a roasted tomato the same treatment. “Was it a Roman? Or a rival clan leader?”

Johann shook his head before taking a small drink from his ale; it wasn’t the wine he was used to, but it did well to quench his thirst. “I only know that it was a band of fifteen or so humans. Where they come from and why they wanted her dead, I am clueless about.” He dabbed his mouth again, his brow rising when Gobber fell silent, merely staring at his food. “Gobber? Is everything alright?”

Slowly, the blacksmith nodded before draining the rest of his ale. “I’m just…a bit worried now. If there are people on the mainland who wanted Greta dead, they could want my lovey dead, too.” He shook his head. “Thora’s letters don’t seem t’ have anythin’ worrisome in them -other than some blacksmith’s apprentice tryin’ t’ woo her- but…Now that I know Greta was _murdered_ …”

Reaching across the table, Johann lightly patted the back of Gobber’s hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much, my old friend,” he chirped. “The Gretason lads are a good lot and believe me when I say they protect their own. Thora is their blood kin; I’m sure they will take every step necessary to keep her safe and sound.” He took another drink of ale. “Now, I have a few questions of my own for _you_.”

Frowning, Gobber leaned back in his stool somewhat. “Oh? Like what?”

“Like why you invited me to dinner in your own home, rather than letting me eat in the Great Hall with the other non-Hooligan folks. The food is quite good, by the way. Did you make it, or did you have someone else make it?”

Gobber shrugged, boredly looking at his leg of yak in an attempt to hide the nervousness he actually felt. “Eh, I thought ya could use a bit o’ _decent_ company for once,” he said. “The folk who normally dine up in the hall aren’t the most savory o’ companions, after all. Oh, an’ aye, I cooked this all on my own.”

Johann looked impressed. “Really now? When we were together, you could barely brew a pot of tea, let alone roast a perfectly cooked leg of yak!” He let out a small laugh as the blacksmith pouted. “You’ve made quite the improvement, though! Who gave you the cooking lessons?”

“Ylva Thorston. It was her way o’ repayin’ me for makin’ her a set o’ matchin’ cradles.”

“Ah, Ylva…she’s such a sweet woman. Beautiful as the heavens, too! Has she remarried or…?” He scooped up some more of the roasted vegetables before popping them into his mouth.

Gobber shook his head. “No, but she did finally tell the twins that Bucket’s their da’ and not their uncle,” he said. “Told Bucket, too. I can’t be sure, but I think they’re goin’ t’ give courtin’ a shot. Not that they really need t’ court, bein’ that their marriage is still quite valid…”

“Hm. Well, that’s a bit of a shame to hear, I must admit. I was hoping I could have a go at courting her, but-” He shrugged. “I’m glad to hear she is doing well, regardless.”

At that, Gobber cocked half his brow. “…I thought ya fancied men?”

Johann let out a small laugh. “Just because I like men doesn’t mean I _don’t_ like women.” Dabbing his mouth, he leaned back on his stool and took a drink of ale. “Not that it matters much; I don’t think a relationship would be the best thing for me right now -especially since I’m still sailing all over the place and constantly putting my life at risk. You know that quite well by now, though.” He gave Gobber a somewhat sad smile.

“O’ course.” He let out another belch before shoving aside his mostly-empty plate and leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. “You’re always comin’ an’ goin’ an’ that’s why I had t’ break it off between us. Couldn’t stand it anymore.”

He nodded in understanding. “And you didn’t want to abandon your friends to come with me. I don’t blame you, however. It’s hard to leave all that you know behind, _especially_ friends and family. But!” He offered Gobber a friendlier smile. “You must admit, we did have some good times together.”

Gobber grinned, nodding in agreement. “Aye, we did. Got t’ admit, I do still sometimes think ‘bout what life would be like if we hadn’t split.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Well, for one, Thora would have two dads instead o’ one,” he said. “Can ya imagine how confusin’ that would be for her? Her callin’ out for her daddy after a nightmare an’ both o’ us come runnin’?”

He let out a hearty laugh at that. “Too true! But, surely, she’d have different names for the two of us.”

Gobber shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, there’s also the fact that we’d have the best-stocked herb an’ spice cabinet in the village -aside from Gothi, that is. An’ it wouldn’t cost me a copper!” A cheeky grin came to his lips. “Oh, an’ I’d also have better smithin’ supplies thanks t’ your travels. I still use those tools ya got me from -where did ya say they were from? Sparta? Alexandria?”

“Antioch,” he corrected, “which is close to Damascus and they have some of the finest metal work in the known world.” He scratched his beard before finishing off his ale. “To be honest, though, I don’t think I can ever see myself settling down. I was forced to try my hand at it after my brother and his wife passed...I love my nephew dearly, but I don’t think I could ever be a parent.” He shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “I still feel guilty for leaving him in Enda Fjarðarins, but at least he really wanted that apprenticeship…”

Half of Gobber’s brow rose again. “Wait, you raised your nephew?”

“For a time, yes. Five years at the most. His parents died of illness, but he had managed to survive it. Being that I’m his only family, I took him under my wing for a while.” He glanced over at Gobber. “You’ll remember the five or so years when I didn’t come to the Archipelago. That was when I was tending to my nephew. I do believe you’d like him, if ever you meet him. He’s apprenticing to be a blacksmith right now.”

A cocky grin spread across Gobber’s face. “It’s a job that’s always in high demand.”

He nodded in agreement. “That it is. But, I had been certain Cæna would be following in my foot-”

Gobber suddenly frowned, his brow furrowing in the middle. “Wait, did ya say his name was Cæna?”

“Y-Yes? Is something wrong?”

Leaning back slightly, half of Gobber’s brow rose once more. “Only that my daughter is bein’ wooed by a lad named Cæna who’s a blacksmith’s apprentice,” he retorted, voice dry.

Johann laughed. “Is that so? Well, I assure you, if he succeeds, Thora will be a very lucky woman!”

“Oh, lucky indeed. I see he takes after his uncle: Wooin’ vulnerable, innocent people while they’re away from home!” he scolded, though Johann could tell he was joking. “Why, I hope her brothers are going to put a stop t’ this! The last thing I need is for my ex-lover t’ bcomee my brother-in-law!”

Johann burst out laughing. “Surely there are worst things in the world? Such as Stoick’s cooking?”

Gobber did his best to keep his serious face, but after a few seconds, he was unable to contain his laughter.

“Another thing surely worse than us becoming in-laws would be having to listen to one of Stoick’s tales about his childhood,” Johann continued, his grin widening, “or having to listen to Big-Boobied Bertha brag about her thieving exploits. Or, perhaps, being the one who has to empty Alvin the Treacherous’ bath water?”

Thumping the table with his fork attachment, Gobber buried his face in his arm in an attempt to mute the sound of his laughter. It was to little avail.

 

* * *

 

 

Waving her hand over a candle, Thora watched as a small flame was produced. Seconds later, the rest of the exposed wick lit up and the corner of her room was filled with a warm glow. She hummed to herself as she closed the door to the lantern, turning her attention to the small pile of scroll in front of her. Trader Johann had brought the letters to her just that morning -after lightly teasing her about Cæna, that is- and she had been eager to read them. Her lessons, however, had stalled her.

She grabbed the first scroll; it was sealed with black wax. ‘From Hiccup,’ she thought, remembering the last time he had sent her one. ‘Wonder if he’s had any luck with Astrid yet? I doubt it; that boy’s far too shy for his own good when it comes to flirting with her…And Astrid’s too stubborn…’ Breaking the seal, she unfurled the letter and began to read.

 

> _Hey Thora!_
> 
> _I hope you’re still doing well over there on the mainland. From the sounds of your last letter, it seems like you’re learning a lot more than you or Gothi could have anticipated. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course! When you come back, I’m sure she’s going to be astounded by how much you’ve grown in the magical field. …And, maybe, the tallness field._
> 
> _Have you started your shapeshifting lessons yet, or are you waiting to learn more basic magic first? You also said you were starting to learn how to brew potions -what kind of potions? Medicinal ones or the kind that can turn people into frogs or put them into eternal sleep? Either way, don’t let the twins know or else they’ll never stop begging you for some sort of concoction._
> 
> _Oh…And Dad wants to know if you’re learning anything about politics, since you’ll need to know that sort of stuff when you become Völva._
> 
> _The whole fiasco with Dagur is **finally** over! That’s a long story that deserves a proper in-person telling, but I’ll still give you a summary. Turns out, Alvin wasn’t dead -just hiding out. With his **and** the Screaming Death’s help, we were able to defeat Dagur. Now he’s locked up in an Outcast jail cell and is only causing headaches for the guards there. Not as much of a headache as I’m sure **you** caused them, though._

Thora let out a sigh, rolling her eyes. “It’s about time someone kicked his arse,” she murmured. “I’m surprised they didn’t outright kill him, t’ be honest…”

Unconsciously, her hand rose up and grasped Dagur's necklace as she continued to read.

 

> _So, we’re at peace with the Outcasts again. Dad held a tribe meeting a few days ago to renew treaties with the Bog Burglars, the Bashem Oiks, and the Outcasts…he also finally told the first two about our dragons. They were surprisingly alright with it! Big-Boobied Bertha was especially pleased when she found herself leaving with a brood of lovable Terrible Terrors._
> 
> _As for me, nothing exciting has really happened lately, aside from the tribal meeting. I’m still working on different tail designs for Toothless -who, I swear, is starting to grow. Maybe he hasn’t reached his full size yet? Gods only know…Fishlegs and I still get together quite often to discuss the new things we’ve been learning about the dragons. Which, by the way, he wanted me to make sure you let us know anything new you learn about Death Dance._
> 
> _It’s still weird that I have to **write** you a letter in order to talk to you, though. I’m so used to just getting up and flying over to your house…This after nearly a year of you being gone. Do you know about how much longer it’ll be until you return? Or do your brothers still not know?_
> 
> _Well, I should probably stop writing now, as it’s getting late. I hope you’re well and are having a great time. Dad, Toothless, and I all send our love your way!_
> 
> _Your demi-cousin,_
> 
> _HHH_
> 
> _P.S. Thanks for the new paper and different drawing mediums! I’m looking forward to trying them out, though Toothless seems to be most interested in trying to devour the colored chalk you sent. Silly dragon._

A small smile was on her lips as she read over the last two paragraphs three more times. Her heart ached as she did miss her family greatly, but hearing that things were finally calming down helped bring some peace to her mind.

‘With Dagur gone and peace renewed, they can finally work on less important things,’ she thought, reaching for the next scroll. Only, it was attached to a second scroll, making her brow rise. Seeing the matching wax seals -one green, the other brown- she knew why they were together. ‘Ahh…the twins. I wonder if Ylva wrote Tuffnut’s letter for him or if he wrote it himself?’

She knew Tuffnut had problems with reading and writing -it was one of the reasons he so vehemently refused to actually read the Book of Dragons. Whenever he had tried to read, the letters seemed to move around or words would misspell themselves as he read them. At least, that’s what he had told her and she believed him; it upset him too much for it to be a joke.

The green-sealed letter was opened first.

 

> _THORA. OH MY GODS. OH. MY. GODS._
> 
> _BUCKET IS OUR DAD. _
> 
> _HE ISN’T OUR UNCLE. HE IS OUR DAD. _

She stared at the letter, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open.

 

> _Ruffnut and me are basically freaking out over here. All this time, mom told us he was our UNCLE but nooo…He’s our dad, and his real name is Knút and the whole reason she didn’t tell us in the first place was because she thought the injury would change him in a bad way. By the time she realized that it hadn’t done that and that Bucket had just turned into a big, strong softie, it was too late or something. So he just became Uncle Bucket._
> 
> _How weird is that!? I mean,_ yeah _we look like him, but we always thought it was because he was our dad’s brother. Nope. Now mom and ~~Uncle Bucket~~ I mean dad. Cross out ‘Uncle Bucket’ Ruffnut. No, don’t write that! Ugh, you’re not supposed to jot down everything I say! Good help is so hard to find these days…No, I will  not learn how to write myself. You try writing when letters don’t behave—Listen, can we please get back to the letter?_

Having to pause due to laughter, Thora rested her forehead in her palm. “Leave it t’ the twins t’ get in an argument in writing…” she murmured, shaking her head.

 

> _As I was saying, mom and DAD are giving courting a go again. Personally, I don’t see why. If they were married before his injury, they’re still married. He didn’t die or anything…What’s the point of it?_
> 
> _Anyway. Uh…what else did I want to tell you…? Oh! I got an AWESOME new mace from Trader Johann a few weeks back. She’s amazing. She’s beautiful. She’s got all the right spikes in all the right places. She’s perfectly balanced. I’ve named her Macy._
> 
> _(She’s a right pain in the ass, that’s what she is.)_

She snorted.

 

> _Oh, yeah. I think Hiccup’s probably told you, but your lover boy has been locked up for good on Outcast Island. Heh…Now he can eat the maggoty bread, right?_
> 
> _(And get the terrible gas and crap explosions!)_
> 
> _Anyway, I think I’ll end the letter here -before my traitorous sister tries to sabotage it again. Hope you’re learning lots of magic, because we’re coming up with plenty of pranks for you to help us with!_
> 
> _Long Live Loki,_
> 
> _Tuffnut_

Shaking her head, Thora quietly chuckled as she let the letter roll back up. One of the twins, it seemed, hadn’t changed at all. As she broke the seal to Ruffnut’s letter, she wondered what she should expect from her -would it be more excitement over finding out who their dad was? Or would it be Ruffnut complaining about Tuffnut’s new weapon-friend?

> _Hey there, witchy!_
> 
> _So, I’m guessing you read Tuff’s letter first. If you didn’t…then stop reading and go read his, because he pretty much covered the shock of the century._
> 
> _Yeah. How weird is it that Bucket’s actually our dad? Alright, it’s not that weird, but to us it is. But he did help raise me and Tuff, so we kind of considered him a father figure anyway? I don’t know. It’s just still surreal to us. _
> 
> _To be honest, though…I always thought of him more like a dad than an uncle anyway. I mean, the guy helped raise us. He treated us like we were his own kids, despite ‘knowing’ we weren’t. He even tried to give us parental advice a few times (it wasn’t the best of advice, since, y’know, he’s only got half a mind, but he tried)._
> 
> _But I’m glad this has all happened. I haven’t seen mom this happy since…well, ever. And ~~Bucket~~ dad is just as happy, though a bit clumsy at times because of it, heh. It’s all good, though. They’re like shy teenagers._
> 
> _Tuffnut says he doesn’t understand why they’re courting again instead of just going straight back into being a married couple. I don’t think Tuffnut really understands romantic feelings at all, though. Come to think of it, I don’t think he’s even ever told me he’s had romantic feelings before. I know he’s been attracted to people, but that was a different sort of attraction…one I’d rather not get into, heh. Got to draw the line somewhere, eh?_
> 
> _Either way, I can understand why mom and dad are doing this. They’re wanting to ease back into a relationship rather than hit it full force. Especially with how dad can easily get over stimulated and have a bit of a breakdown at times. They’re learning their boundaries._
> 
> _I suppose you’re sick of reading about my mom and dad by now, so I’ll stop my rambling on that. So. Hmm…let’s see…what else has been going on…I know, I’ll tell you some of the gossip going around!_
> 
> _I’m sure Hiccup told you about the big tribal meeting we had. Well, at the after-meeting feast, Pála Hofferson danced practically the whole night with one of the Bashem Oik men and hooboy, they could not take their eyes off one another. I don’t really see why; Pála is gorgeous and the guy looked like a muscular version of Fishlegs. If I were her, I would have gone over and danced with Jorvik Skullcrusher. I mean, that guy has stomach and chest muscles you could wash clothes on. _
> 
> _Not that I’d wash clothes on him, mind you. I’d rather rip them off._

Scrunching her nose up, Thora stuck her tongue out. “Ruff, you are disgusting,” she mumbled. “…But I do have t’ agree with ya on the muscles.”

 

> _Oh, and apparently a few of the other tribes are going to start trying to tame dragons. Not sure how well that’s going to go, since…well, they don’t really know how to train dragons. Maybe Hiccup will write them a book. Heh…How to Train Your Dragon by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. How pretentious does that sound? Oh, and you can write a companion book! How to Train Your Berserker Chieftain_ _by Thora Thunderous Gobbersdotter. You two can be pretentious together!_
> 
> _Joking aside, I really do hope you’re doing well over there. Your other letters make it seem like you are, but they could just be well-written lies, y’know? If something’s wrong, let us know and we’ll come kick some butts for you. You’re our best friend (alright, at least you’re my best friend; don’t know what Tuff would say) and we’re the only ones allowed to mess with you. Everyone else? They have to go through us._
> 
> _I also got to admit I miss talking with you. Astrid’s an alright friend and all but…she just doesn’t get me like you do. Her mind is focused on being a warrior, while I’m…not sure what I want to be just yet. A warrior, yeah, sure, but I mean…there’s more to life than fighting things, you know? Tuff says he wants to devote his life to Loki and I’m totally down with that, but at the same time…_
> 
> _I don’t know. You’re usually the one who gives me advice and different perspectives on things. And only communicating with you through letter isn’t a good way for that to happen, since words can be interpreted so different depending on the way you read them._
> 
> _Maybe I just need to try making friends with some of the other girls my age? Ugh, but they’re so different from me. How would I even try to make friends with them? I don’t even know how I lucked out making friends with you! …You think Hiccup might be able to help me with something like this? I mean, the two of you were really stinking close. Maybe some of your good advice brains rubbed off on him? _
> 
> _Anyway, I’m about to run out of ink so I better stop writing now. Keep those letters coming. And the presents! I really like the new knife you got me. And Tuff loves the shark skin you sent him._
> 
> _Can’t wait to see you,_
> 
> _Ruffnut_

‘Well, that was a surprisingly thoughtful letter,’ she thought, rolling the scroll back up. ‘Normally, it’s Tuffnut who’s full of thoughts and gossip. Not that this is bad; I do miss talking with Ruff, too. Like she said, Astrid’s a good friend but…not the best of conversationalists.’

A quiet sigh left her mouth and she closed her eyes. She leaned back slightly, stretching out her back. Her mind was starting to grow a big foggy with a mixture of homesickness and tiredness, but she knew she had one letter left to read.

“Alright, da’,” she said, reaching for the letter, “what do ya have t’ say?”

> _Lovey,_
> 
> _Your last letter and gift were a welcomed surprise! I’ve already gotten quite a bit of use out of the new attachment; who knew it’d be so fun to use a miniature crossbow? Ha! And your uncle hasn’t taken the trinkets out of his beard yet, so I think it’s safe to say he likes them._
> 
> _I’m glad to hear you’re doing better on the homesickness-front. I know being away from home is hard, especially when holidays are drawing near. Just remember that you’re still with your family, though, and you’re making memories with them. From the sounds of it, your brothers are wonderful folk who’re taking good care of you. That’s all I could ask for right now._
> 
> _A lot has been going on here, but I’m sure you’ll read or have read about that from the others. Things are changing for the better, so who knows what our little village will look like by the time you get back? Odin’s beard, could you imagine it if we became the learning center about dragons here on the Archipelago? Hiccup would be in heaven!_
> 
> _I hope that lad you’ve had your eye on has been treating you well and I say that because I’m fairly certain that, by the time you get this letter, the two of you will have started courting. And if you haven’t…well, it’s his loss! And if you_ have _started courting, well then I hope your brothers have been keeping a watch on you two. I don’t want you coming home with a child on your hip!_
> 
> _And I know you just rolled your eyes at that, but I’m your father. It’s my job to fret over this kind of thing._
> 
> _Well, that’s all I really have to say. Now that things are quieting down, there isn’t much to tell you, but I’m sure by the time your next letter arrives,_ something _will have happened that would be worth writing about._
> 
> _Love you lots and lots,_
> 
> _Dad_

Closing her eyes once more, Thora let out a small, shaky sigh. She smiled, despite the few tears rolling down her cheeks; she didn’t know why his letter made her feel so nostalgic all of a sudden. She thought she had gotten over her homesickness _months_ ago. Shaking her head, she sniffled before doing her best to wipe away the tears.

‘Guess it never really goes away,’ she thought, gathering up the letters. ‘Or, if it does, it takes longer than a year…’ She stood and carried them to the trunk at the foot of her bed, where she stored them in a smaller, plainly decorate chest. ‘After lessons tomorrow, I’ll go to the market and find them all some presents. Then I’ll work on writing them replies.’

There was a knock at her bedroom door and Sindri poked his head in. “Little Sister Thora?” he questioned. “Everything alright? Thought heard crying…”

She looked up from the chest, giving him a reassuring smile. “Just finished readin’ the letters from Berk is all,” she told him. “Thanks for checkin’ on me, though.”

He nodded in understanding before coming into the room. Kneeling down beside his sister, he pulled her against him in a big hug. He was careful to not squeeze too hard.

“What’s this for?” she laughed, returning his hug.

“Looked like needed hug, so am giving hug,” he replied. “Would say pretend am family from Berk, but…ah…Am much too hairy and big for that.” He finally released her, setting her on the floor once more.

She burst out laughing. “Clearly, ya don’t remember what my da’ an’ uncle look like then!” she joked. “But, the hug is much appreciated. It did help.”

A wide, innocent grin spread across his lips as he stood up. “Good. Now, still some apple crumble left. Suggest come get some before Ulfr eats all.”

“I left her some!” Ulfr called from the main room. “But not for much longer!”

“Don’t ya dare eat my serving!” Thora called back, closing her chest. “Ormr an’ I worked hard t’ make that!”

“Best hurry. Think hear him getting spoon,” Sindri teased. He cracked up as Thora ran past him, a somewhat frantic look on her face.


	20. 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, this chapter is another loooong chapter. I think it comes it at 33? 34? pages. Also, some warnings: Towards the middle, things get a little intimate. Then, towards the end, there is violence and I do get a bit graphic in some cases. This chapter is a bit of an emotional roller-coaster -at least, it was for me while I was writing it. So, if you leave me a comment filled with angry capslock, I'll be totally understanding xD

Ormr let out a heavy sigh.

Purple smoke billowed out of the cauldron in front of him, filling the house and making it smell like a strange mix between cumin and wheelbarrow of manure. Even with his attempts to salvage the potion and covering the cauldron’s lid, smoke still issued forth at a rapid pace. Servants ran about, throwing open windows. The door was wide open and people were doing their best to fan the smoke outside, but it was of little help.

Lifting the cauldron from its hook, Ormr carried the pot outside, where his little sister was throwing up between fits of coughing. He walked some yards away and dumped the potion on the ground; it didn’t quite stop smoking, but the smoke lessened now. Heading back to his sister, he knelt beside her and gently rubbed her back. Soon, both her gagging and coughing eased up, though it had left her weak and shaky.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, looking up at him.

“Accidents happen,” he replied, still rubbing her back. “Know didn’t mean to knock saffron in.”

She let out a sigh and glanced back at the ground. “I’m still sorry. Now the house is goin’ t’ reek for who-knows-how-long.”

He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the house. Most of the smoke had left, though it seemed to linger in the sky. “Eh, no worry. Cajsa know how to make smell go away.” He turned his attention back to Thora, who still looked a bit pale. “How feel? Seem to have worse reaction.”

“Still a bit queasy, but I’ll survive. Cumin does weird things t’ me is all.” Straightening up, she pushed a braid over her shoulder. “Ya already know how I can’t eat it. Guess it doesn’t do well for me in smoke form, either.”

“Should sit outside for while,” he cautioned. “House probably still smell bad. Will bring some tea to help stomach.”

Thora smiled up at him. “Thank you, Ormr.” Her nose scrunched up slightly as he gently ruffled her hair.

As he went back into the house, she headed further away, choosing to lay down in the grass. It was only early spring, but it had been dry the last few days and the sun felt nice on her skin. Staring up at the clouds, she smiled again. They were large, white, and fluffy -perfect for trying to find shapes in them.

‘That one kind of looks like an anvil,’ she thought. ‘Hmm…that one looks like a Terrible Terror that’s been sat on by a Gronckle…’ She snickered at the thought. The purple clouds of smoke started to join in with the white clouds, adding in new shapes. She was wracking her mind for all the different animals and things she was seeing, but the sound of approaching hoof beats distracted her.

Sitting up, she squinted through the daylight, trying to see down the road. Whoever was riding, though, was still hidden by the trees. She looked up as Ormr returned, holding a small (compared to him, at least) wooden mug of tea.

“Here go,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Chamomile, peppermint.”

Thora took the mug from him. “Thank-ya.” Holding the mug to her mouth, she gently blew across its surface.

“Cajsa going around, saging house. Helping bad smell leave.”

She nodded in understanding. “Hopefully, the sage will overpower it…” Daring to take a sip of the tea, she found it still far too hot to drink. “I wonder who’s comin’ this way?”

Ormr cocked his brow. “Hm?” Tilting his head, he soon heard the hoof beats coming their way. “Ah. Hm. Sound like big horse in hurry. Maybe messenger?” He frowned. “Hope no one hurt.”

“I hope there’s nothin’ wrong in general, especially since Ulfr an’ Sindri are in town.”

Ormr cracked a smile. “Unless they are the trouble.”

At that, Thora snorted. “Oh gods, don’t _even_ suggest that! I can just see the uproar Sindri caused by flirtin’ with the wrong person an’ Ulfr havin’ t’ get him out o’ trouble…”

Laughing, Ormr shook his head. “Have no idea how many times has happened in past. Sindri is eh…not picky when comes to affections.” He looked back at the forest as the rider finally appeared. “Huh…is Cæna?”

Thora frowned, setting aside her mug. “Cæna? What’s he doin’ here?” Standing up, she started walking down the hill.

She reached the gate just as Cæna did. Before she could ask what was wrong, though, he flung himself off the horse and ran over to her, a panicked look on his face.

“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded, eyes wide as he took her hands in his. “Is any one hurt? Are _you_ hurt?”

She blinked. “N-no, nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. “Why would anythin’—“ She paused only to close her eyes and sigh. “Er…ya saw the smoke, didn’t ya?”

He nodded, still worried. “I saw it and thought your house was burning down with how much there was! I had to come an’ see what was goin’ on in case anyone had gotten hurt or if help was needed…”

“I knocked some saffron into a potion by accident,” she explained, a warm smile coming to her lips as Cæna pulled her to him in a hug. “It made the potion start spewin’ foul-smellin’ smoke. It made me a wee bit nauseous an’ I threw up a few times, but it’s nothin’ worse than that, I promise.”

“Good…Kind of.” He gave her a small squeeze before pulling back and looking her over. “I don’t like that it made you throw up, but I’m glad that that’s all that happened t’ ya.” Standing on his tiptoes, he gave her a lingering kiss on the lips. “I was scared I’d get here an’ find you hurt or worse…” He stole a second kiss, one of his hands rising up and sliding into her hair.

Smiling against his lips, Thora leaned over slightly so he wouldn’t have to stretch so much. “Ya know, my brother is watchin’,” she quietly teased.

He pulled back, eyes wide and cheeks bright red. “Wh-which one?” he stammered. Leaning over and looking past her, he saw Ormr lightly shaking his head some ways away. “O-oh…It’s just Ormr. I thought ya had meant Ulfr.”

Thora snorted, hearing Ormr let out a laugh as well. “An’ if it had been Ulfr?”

“I may not have lived long enough to give you that second kiss.”

Cracking up, Thora rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she laughed, taking his hand. “He may _look_ like the scary one, but it’s really _Sindri_ who’s the overly protective one.” She led him up the hill where they sat near Ormr once more.

Giving the troll a small, shy wave, Cæna nervously smiled. “Sindri? Now that I can’t believe,” he told her.

“Is true,” Ormr said. “Sindri very protective of Little Sister Thora.” He then shrugged, picking up Thora’s tea and urging her to take a drink of it. “But need not worry. Sindri like you enough. Won’t _kill_ if find you, Little Sister Thora snogging…or worse.”

Thora choked on her tea, her cheeks darkening. “Ormr!” she cried, wiping some tea from her chin.

He shrugged again, though wore a teasing grin. “What? Is truth. May _maim_ or _torture_ Cæna, but _not_ kill. Now, if Cæna broke Little Sister Thora’s heart…may end up dead then.”

She groaned, hiding her face behind her mug of tea. Cæna, thankfully, was taking Ormr’s jests in good stride.

“It’s a good thing that’ll never happen, then,” he assured Ormr. “Ulfr seems like the type who prefers t’ kill people quickly. Sindri? Now he seems like someone who would draw the death out.”

“Sindri prefer hunting,” Ormr corrected. “ _I_ am one who draws out death.” He gave the human an almost wicked looking smile, but there was too much mirth in his eyes to make him look truly vicious.

“Eesh…With a smile like that, aye, I can believe it!”

“Can we _not_ discuss the ways my brothers kill people, lease o’ all the bloke I’m courtin’?” Thora suddenly cried, exasperated by the two males.

Both Ormr and Cæna cracked up, the latter leaning over and kissing her cheek. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “we’re just bonding.”

“Aye -in an incredibly morbid fashion.”

“Can get worse if would like,” Ormr suggested, grinning playfully now.

“We haven’t even gotten started on the _methods_ they use for killing!”

Groaning once more, Thora flopped backwards and covered her face. “At least you’re gettin’ along…”

 

* * *

 

 

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair. Staring down at his latest version of Toothless’ tail, he frowned. Something didn’t seem quite right about -it was supposed to help his dragon go faster, but it just didn’t read ‘fast’ to him.

“Is it the shape?” he mumbled, picking it up and looking it over. “Shouldn’t be; it’s the same shape as all his other tails…It’s fairly lightweight, too, so that shouldn’t be the problem…”

“Hey, Hiccup!” Astrid poked her head into the forge, curiosity on her face as she glanced around. “Working on a new tail for Toothless?”

He nodded, not really surprised by her sudden appearance; now that Dagur was locked up, he could often be found in Gobber’s shop. “Yeah, but it’s not looking quite right to me,” he told her. “Hi, by the way. You and Stormfly finish your laps around the island already?”

“Yep. That chicken diet is really working wonders on her speed!” Taking the tail from Hiccup, she looked it over. “Is this going to help with his maneuverability?”

Shaking his head, Hiccup shoved some hair out of his face. ‘Time to trim my bangs, I guess,’ he thought. “It’s to help with his speed,” he said aloud.

Astrid shook her head in return, handing the tailfin back. “It’s not right for speed. See how wide you’ve made it here?” She pointed to a section where he had enlarged the metal supports. “This area needs to be thinner, and probably made of a lighter material. Over here, though-” She pointed to the area along where the fin would meet Toothless’ actual tail, “this needs to be thicker so it has a gradual fade into thin leather.”

Hiccup stared at her for a moment, rather surprised by her advice. He _knew_ Astrid was intelligent -she had shown that many times over the last few years- but he had always thought her smarts were more focused on battle and strategy. This sort of thing, though? He would have never guessed in a million years that she’d know about wing shapes or building materials.

A half impressed, half dreamy grin came to his face as he quickly remembered all over again why he had fallen for her.

“You know, you’re right,” he told her. “I was so focused on getting the shape to match Toothless’ other fin that I forgot I could make minor adjustments to the fake one.”

Astrid tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a confident grin on her lips as she cocked her hip. “ _Someone_ needs to pay more attention to his work sketches,” she teased, tapping a piece of parchment pinned to the wall.

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing. “Yeah, I’ll admit I sometimes get too carried away. At least I can still salvage this. A little seam ripping here, a new tension rod there…” He shrugged, smiling. “Thanks for pointing that out. I knew it looked wrong, but just couldn’t think of why.”

Astrid shrugged, still wearing her confidence on her lips. “You’re welcome. Now, how about you take a break? Toothless is bored out of his mind.”

Folding the tail up and setting it on his work bench, he leaned back, stretching his back. “A break sounds nice. I’m sure Toothless could use a bit of a stretch too.” Taking off his apron, he tossed it onto its hook.

“A stretch…as in maybe we see who can reach Healer’s Island the fastest?” she suggested before exiting the shop. Hiccup could see a hint of mischief in her eye -a look she had picked up from the twins, no doubt. “And maybe the loser has to clean the winner’s stall for a week?”

Hiccup’s brow rose and he smirked, eyes narrowing slightly as he followed after her. With the area free of the other dragon riders -or of anyone, really- he risked saying, “Actually, I was thinking maybe the winner got something a little less…labor intensive?”

She glanced over her shoulder, getting ready to mount Stormfly. “Oh? And what would that be?”

As he mounted Toothless, Hiccup quietly chuckled. “A kiss?”

Astrid felt her cheeks turn a bit pink, but she ignored the feeling and instead grinned challengingly. “A kiss? Alright. But that’s for if _you_ win. I’m quite a fan of not having to clean Stormfly’s stall for a whole week.”

He laughed, patting Toothless’ neck. “Sounds good, but I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.” Toothless glanced back at him, his frills standing upright in anticipation for the coming race. “On three?”

“One,” Astrid said, getting comfortable in her saddle.

“Two,” said Hiccup, leaning forward as he changed the positioning of Toothless’ tailfin.

Astrid smirked and gave a subtle nudge to Stormfly. The two of them took off into the air, quickly leaving Hiccup and Toothless behind. “Three!” she laughed from the sky.

“You’re going to need that head start!” Hiccup grinned as Toothless shot into the air, chasing after her.

For the most part, it was a close race. Toothless and Stormfly fought to outpace the other without tiring themselves out. Astrid and Hiccup kept urging their dragons forward, neither wanting to lose.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Astrid called out when Stormfly pulled ahead. “You must’ve put Toothless’ _leisurely flying_ tail on today!”

He had to admit -that was a good one. “‘Leisurely flying’ tail, huh? You get that one from the twins?” he shouted back, grinning.

Astrid didn’t reply -whether it was because she couldn’t think of a retort or because she couldn’t hear him, he didn’t know. Not that it mattered; Healer’s Island was drawing near. Now in the home stretch, she was more focused on her objective of beating Hiccup.

Knowing she would do all within her power to beat him, Hiccup grinned and urged Toothless to climb higher in the sky. When Astrid glanced over her shoulder to check his positioning, she found only empty sky. Her brows furrowing, she looked ahead of her only to let out a yelp as a blur of brown and black dove past them.

“C’mon, Stormfly! We can beat them!” she encouraged her dragon.

Tucking in her wings, Stormfly began diving towards the land as well. Astrid pressed herself as flat as possible against her back, trying to minimize the wind resistance. As the wind rushed past her face, she was forced to close her eyes, leaving her unable to check their positioning.

And then, just like that, Stormfly opened her wings and landed on the sandy beach of Healer’s Island. Opening her eyes, Astrid sat up in time to see Hiccup and Toothless land a yard or two away -and none too gracefully at that. Toothless had ended up on his back, Hiccup pinned beneath him.

Her jaw almost fell slack; she hadn’t expected to win.

“Guess I’m cleaning your stall for a week,” Hiccup groaned.

“What happened?” Astrid demanded, hurrying off Stormfly and going to help Hiccup disentangle himself from Toothless. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pull off such a…well, a crappy landing!” Tugging on Hiccup, she was able to free him from under the dragon -but at a cost. His fake leg had popped off.

Steadying himself on his one foot, Hiccup did his best to brush the sand from his body. “We came in too fast. I tried to slow us down, but it didn’t work too well -as you can see.” He let himself fall to his knees when Toothless righted himself, shaking the sand off. “Hold still, bud -you’ve got my foot.” He crawled over and unhooked his foot from the mechanism.

For some reason, Astrid didn’t wholly believe him, but she didn’t press the issue further. “Are you alright? I can’t imagine becoming the pillow for a three-thousand-pound reptile is a comfortable experience.” She watched as Stormfly darted towards the ocean, Toothless following after her.

Hiccup waved dismissively as he reattached his leg. “It’s nothing I haven’t felt before,” he chuckled. Standing upright, he smiled at Astrid. “So, tell me: Does Stormfly prefer her stall to be cleaned in the evenings or the mornings?”

Astrid rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Midday, actually,” she said, cocking her hip slightly. “I normally clean it while she’s off eating lunch.” Kicking off her boots, she knelt down and started to roll up her trousers.

“What’re you doing?” Hiccup questioned, watching her.

She glanced up at him. “What, you think your break is going to be just a race and then we head back?” Standing up, she poked his chest. “No way. You’ve been cooped up in that forge for _days_ building new tails for Toothless. You need a decent breath of fresh air and some time to unwind.” She headed into the surf, a shiver running down her spine at the chilly ocean water.

“This coming from the Viking who says it’s good to have a hobby,” he joked, crossing his arms. He let out a yelp as Astrid kicked some water at him, splashing him in the face. “Oh, that’s it, young lady!” he laughed, wobbling on his fake foot as he pulled off his boot. “You are _so_ getting it!” Haphazardly pulling his trousers to his knees, he raced out into the water, chasing after Astrid as she darted off.

Laughing, Astrid spun around and kicked more water at Hiccup, but held up his arms, grinning as he was able to block the water. He skidded to a halt and cupped his hands, scooping up some water to throw at her. Before he could, though, he ended up getting splashed once more.

“You may be fast in the air, but on land, you’re slower than a turtle,” Astrid grinned.

Hiccup raised a brow, but smirked. “Hey, Astrid -what’s that crawling up your leg?”

Astrid’s eyes widened as she felt something start touching her leg. Letting out a curse, she looked down as she tried to kick whatever it was off of her. A clump of seaweed flew back into the waves with a splash and she rolled her eyes.

“Very funny, Hic—” She was cut off as Hiccup suddenly pulled her against him, stealing a kiss from her. Her brow rose, but she grinned against his lips and kissed him in return.

Hiccup pulled back somewhat, a victorious smile on his lips. “Still got my kiss,” he murmured, his tone teasing.

Her brow still raised, Astrid rolled her eyes and quietly laughed. “Yeah, but it’s not getting you out of cleaning Stormfly’s stall for a week.”

He pouted. “What about _two_ kisses? Will that change your mind?” He leaned in to kiss her again only to have her laugh and push his face away.

“Not even two _thousand_ kisses are getting you out of this one, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Ease up, will you? We’re not goin’ t’ let ya fall off!”

“S-sorry -we’re just…a _lot_ higher than I thought we’d be!”

Thora chuckled, glancing over her shoulder at Cæna, who was tightly holding onto her. “We’re not goin’ much higher,” she assured him, “an’ I’ve got my tail wrapped around ya. Relax a bit an’ enjoy the view!”

Swallowing hard, Cæna attempted to do just that. Loosening his grip on her waist, he leaned back somewhat. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. Then, opening his eyes, he peered over the side of Death Dance’s neck.

Far, far below them, the earth rushed past. Forests turned into blurs of green and gray, roads quickly lost their direction, and hills were lost with a blink. Turning slightly, Cæna peered behind them; Enda Fjarðarins was barely a dot on the horizon -and they had only left ten minutes ago.

“Do you know where you’re goin’?” he questioned, his brow rising as they flew over a small fjord.

“No idea!” laughed Thora. He could tell she was grinning. “Don’t worry; I have ways t’ find the way back if Death can’t do it.”

He winced, but said nothing; he knew she had meant her dragon and _not_ the goddess of death. “Just don’t fly too far east, alright?”

“Why not?” she questioned, brows furrowing somewhat.

“There are bad people in the eastern reaches of this land. I don’t know much about them, but I’ve heard that they trap and kill dragons among other things.” He leaned forward again, burying his face in her back, taking in her scent. A quiet sigh left his mouth; she smelled of a lovely mixture of cinnamon and cloves. “I don’t want you _or_ Death Dance hurt when we’re supposed t’ be having a nice, quiet picnic.”

Thora frowned as she heard this news, but it didn’t entirely surprise her. When the Hairy Hooligans fought and killed dragons by the dozens, they found uses for the fire retardant hides and their sturdy horns. It made sense that other people would do the same -and even make a profit off of it.

But she wouldn’t allow that to happen to Death Dance. “We’ll stay near the coast,” she promised Cæna. “I feel safer by the ocean anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t really know…” She shrugged, relaxing against Cæna’s chest. “I think it has t’ do with bein’ raised on an island. With the ocean almost always in sight, we could see if we were about t’ be attacked -by humans, at least.” Closing her eyes, she smiled as she felt him kiss her shoulder. “An’ the sound o’ the waves let ya know if bad weather was comin’…not t’ mention, the sheer amount o’ food we got from the ocean.”

He quietly chuckled, letting his eyes close as well. “I can’t say I know the feeling -I grew up a few miles inland. The ocean was never in sight, let alone within hearin’ distance.”

“What did your parents do?” She had rarely heard him talk about his family, aside from his adventures with Trader Johann.

“Father was a woodcutter an’ mother was a wet nurse for a lord in Gaul. When I was old enough, I started helpin’ the lord with his cows.” He let out a heavy sigh, unconsciously pulling Thora a bit closer to him. “But that was a long time ago…Almost fifteen years!” A small laugh left his mouth and he nuzzled her. “Kind o’ funny t’ think I’ve ended up so far away from home when all I used t’ want t’ do is herd cattle an’ sheep all day.”

Tilting her head back, she was able to kiss his temple. “Do ya regret not bein’ a cattle farmer?”

“Oh, gods no! I love being a blacksmith. I like it a lot more than my old life.” A silly grin came to his lips. “Not to mention, if I hadn’t become a blacksmith, I wouldn’t have met ya!”

Her cheeks darkened, but she laughed. “Some would say that’s a _good_ thing.”

He shook his head. “I’m not one o’ them. I mean, how else would I have learned that dragons can be tamed an’ that troll women were ticklish?”

Thora suddenly let out a shriek of laughter, her eyes shooting open as Cæna started tickling her sides. Death Dance glanced back at them, startled. Seeing that it was just an unfair tickling war taking place, she shook her head and started to slowly lower her altitude.

“Stop ticklin’ me!” Thora laughed, trying in vain to grab Cæna’s hands with her tail. It doubly difficult since she couldn’t see him _and_ her tail kept twitching whenever he found an especially ticklish spot.

“But your laugh is so pretty!” he grinned, hands dodging her tail.

Knowing it was useless trying to get him to stop, Thora suddenly wickedly grinned. “Well then, if ya won’t stop…” She wrapped her tail around the pommel of the saddle and gripped the top of the nearest bone before simply falling out of the saddle.

Cæna let out a curse and lunged forward, trying to grab her -but it was to no avail. Frantically searching the air below him for any sign of Thora, he called out her name. A tap on his foot drew his attention. His eyes widening, he leaned over just a bit further.

There was Thora, upside down as she held onto Death Dance’s bones with her hands and toes. She wore a mischievous grin on her lips as she looked up at him, her braids whipping about her face.

“You scared the life out o’ me!” he scolded.

“I had t’ get away from the ticklin’ _somehow_ ,” she replied, shrugging. With surprising ease, she crawled down Death’s neck, towards her ribcage.

Cæna watched her, biting his lower lip. “You be careful! I don’t want you _actually_ falling off!”

“No worries -I’ve done this plenty o’ times.” She climbed up the ribs and sat herself down behind one of the vertebrae. There was a cheeky grin on her lips as she propped her chin in her palm, looking at Cæna entirely too innocently.

“What am I goin’ to do with you?” he sighed, a hint of jest in his voice. “First, you’re flying dragons. Now you’re crawling over them while they’re flying?” He shook his head, making a disappointed clicking sound with his tongue.

“Don’t know about that, but I _do_ know ya can take the reins an’ make sure Death Dance lands in a place suitable for non-dragons.”

He blinked, looking down at the reins. “Ah…and how would I do that?”

“Have ya ridden a horse before?”

“Of course.”

“Then I imagine it’s nearly the same as ridin’ a horse!”

His brow rose and he glanced over his shoulder at her. “You’ve…never ridden a horse before?”

She shook her head. “Never even saw one until I came here,” she admitted. “I _have_ heard that they’re delicious when prepared right, though.”

Shaking his head, Cæna grabbed the reins and did his best to bring Death Dance into a gentle landing. “Well, I can’t say that Kelda packed us any horse, but I do know she packed plenty o’ your beloved cream cakes.”

“Ooh…Remind me t’ thank her for that!”

Laughing, Cæna rolled his eyes as he lightly pulled back on the reins to slow the Boneknapper. While her speedy landings had gotten better over the last year, he didn’t want to risk accidentally flinging both him and Thora from her back. With her slowed speed, Death Dance was able to land quite nicely and she knew it. She triumphantly clacked her jaws before twisting her head around and itching a spot under her wing.

“I thought this area would be a good one,” Cæna said as he dismounted. A small grunt left his mouth as he landed on his feet after a four-foot drop.

“It certainly looks pretty enough,” Thora agreed, smiling as she started climbing down Death’s neck.

He had chosen an old, abandoned farming field for them to have their picnic in. It had enough space for Death Dance to wander around in without them having to worry about losing track of her. It also had an old granary that gave off enough shade for them to hide from the late spring sun.

As Thora was about to let herself drop off the dragon, Cæna hurried over and caught her as she fell, earning a small curse of surprise from her. He, however, grinned cheekily, his arms secure around her waist.

“You’re almost _too_ strong, laddie,” she giggled, kissing his forehead.

“What, because I can lift you?”

She nodded. “I weigh more than a full-grown Hooligan!”

“Now _that_ I doubt…Even though I’ve never seen a Hooligan aside from you.” Still carrying her, her took her over to the shaded area beneath the granary. He set her down in the tall grass and kissed the top of her head. “Be right back.”

Thora rolled her eyes, but smiled, as he ran back to Death Dance. She watched as he climbed up her bones in order to reach the basket of food tied to her back. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on them.

‘How did I manage to find a guy like him?’ she thought, letting her gaze slowly drift down his body. ‘He’s funny, he’s sweet, he’s smart…he’s got a great arse…’ She then winced, watching as Cæna slipped halfway down the dragon, tumbling to the ground. “Are ya alright, love?” she called, brows furrowing.

The picnic basket suddenly appeared above the grass. “The food’s fine!”

“Aye, but what about _you_?”

Death Dance tilted her head down and gently lifted Cæna to his feet. He wore a somewhat embarrassed, but goofy, smile as he patted the dragon’s snout.

“Thank ya, Death,” he told her. “Go ahead an’ go play, alright? We’ll be over here.”

She chirped, nuzzling him. Then, turning away from him, she wandered off.

“Get your brains addled, did ya?” Thora chuckled as he set the basket beside her.

Flopping to the ground, he held his fingers about an inch apart. “Just a wee bit.”

Leaning over, Thora gently moved his head around, searching for any bumps, bruises, or blood. “Well, I’m not seein’ any injuries, so they couldn’t have gotten _too_ shaken up.” Kissing the top of his head, she used her tail to tug the cloth off of the basket. “Let’s see what we’ve got t’ eat, shall we?”

“I already see my first course.” He reached past her and pulled out a meat pie, grinning broadly. “Been wantin’ one of these things Kelda told me she packed them. Lamb, peas, carrots, and parsnip all cooked down in a wine broth with mint and rosemary? She must think we’re royalty or something.” Taking a large bite from the pie, he stretched out his legs and leaned back on his free hand.

Laughing, Thora pulled out a bottle of wine. “Or maybe this is her way o’ thankin’ me for watching Vigdís for her?” Using her teeth, she uncorked the bottle and took a swig of the wine, only to cock her brow. “Huh…This is unusually fruity…”

Cæna stole the bottle from her and also took a drink. “Mm…I recognize this flavor,” he said, his eyes closing and another silly grin appearing on his lips. “I remember havin’ similar wine on Pyrgos when uncle and I visited Greece.” He took another drink of the wine before offering it back to Thora.

“Makes sense,” she chuckled, taking the bottle and corking it once more. “Kelda’s husband is a satyr, after all.”

His brow rose. “What? Really?” Thora nodded. “I’ve never seen him, so I didn’t know…but that explains Vigdís’ little horns.” Taking another bite of his meat pie, he let out a content sigh.

Reaching into the basket, Thora, too, pulled out a meat pie and started to eat it. “He mostly works in the forest, with the naiads.” Using her tail, she moved the basket aside somewhat before laying down, resting her head on Cæna’s lap. “He’s worked out a deal with them so that they’ll send an’ receive goods from his family in Greece in exchange for shells, pearls, an’ combs.”

“Really now? That’s interesting…” Finishing his pie, he reached down and lightly brushed some of Thora’s braids over her shoulder, watching as she smiled. “I’ve never come across a naiad, to be honest. I try t’ stay away from water creatures.”

She nodded in understanding, chewing her second bite of pie. After swallowing, she said, “There are few water-dwellin’ creatures that are safe t’ be around, that’s for certain. Naiads are some o’ the more friendly ones, along with selkies. I’ve yet t’ meet a naiad, but Cajsa an’ Glaw are selkies an’ they’re both as sweet as lambs.”

He frowned, confused. “Does Ulfr have their skins hidden…? I know selkies don’t like being away from the ocean or their herds.”

“No. Cajsa shed her skin when bein’ pursued by a sea troll who wanted t’ eat her an’ newborn Glaw,” she explained, brushing some crumbs from her chin and neck. “Ormr managed t’ kill the troll, but her herd wouldn’t accept her back since she no longer had a skin. So, he brought her home an’ she an’ Glaw have been with ‘em ever since.” She reached up and tucked some of his hair behind his ear.

“I can’t imagine being disowned by my loved ones like that,” he murmured, gently taking her hand and holding it against his cheek. “I can understand, somewhat, _why_ they did it, but I’m sure there were other options…”

“It’s got t’ be horrible feelin’, that’s for sure.”

He nodded in agreement, letting out a small sigh. “I’ll never do that to you,” he quietly promised, brushing her knuckles against his lips. “An’ if your family ever shunned you like that, I’d be right there to keep you safe from harm…And probably punch them in the face for being such big jerks.”

Sitting up, Thora gave him a gentle kiss. “I know ya wouldn’t,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his. A small smile came to her lips as she looked into his eyes; the varying shades of brown and golden flecks made it seem as if she were staring into the heart of Yggdrasil itself and seeing the life force of the nine realms. “But I’m lucky. I don’t think my brothers or my da’ would ever do that t’ me. So don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout someday having t’ punch Ulfr.”

He quietly laughed. “Good, because I’m fairly certain he’d kill me afterwards.”

She stole another kiss from him. “I wouldn’t let him,” she murmured against his lips. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she nuzzled his cheek with her nose, being careful to not accidentally poke him with one of her tusks.

One arm snaking around her waist, Cæna used his other hand to grab the bottle of wine. He flicked the cork out with his thumb before taking a long drink. Offering the bottle to Thora, he watched as she took it with her tail. Rolling his eyes, he smiled and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” he murmured against her skin.

“Only every time we see each other,” she smiled, setting the bottle aside after having taken a swig from it. “Not that I mind hearin’ it again, though.”

“Good. Because I _really_ love you.” Tilting his head back, he kissed her chin. “I’d marry you if I could.”

Her eyes widened; he had never said _that_ before. “Wh-what?”

He smiled tenderly at her, brushing her braids back once more. “I’d marry ya if I could,” he repeated, a bit of sorrow in his voice.

She stared at him, her cheeks growing dark. Biting her tongue, she scooted a tad closer to him. “…Why can’t ya?” she quietly asked.

“You’re a princess an’ I’m just a blacksmith.” He pressed his lips to hers, letting the kiss linger for many minutes. With his eyes shut, he was unable to see as Thora dropped the cream cake in favor of letting her hands slide up the back of his neck and into his hair.

“You’re not _just_ a blacksmith,” she breathed when they finally parted. A soft groan left her mouth as he lovingly traced the curve of her jaw with his lips. “You’re _my_ blacksmith.”

He slowly left a trail of kisses down the skin of her neck, drawing another moan from her mouth. “I’ll always be your blacksmith,” he murmured, fingers slowly dragging down her back. “ _Always_.”

She breathed in sharply as his teeth scraped against the base of her throat, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she pulled him closer, gently gripping his hair. Biting her tongue, she let her head fall back, granting him better access to the sensitive flesh.

Cæna glanced up at her face as he kissed his way along her collarbones and back up her throat. His hands slid their way up her sides before daring to slip beneath her top. He watched her cheeks grow darker as he cupped her breasts, but still she didn’t pull away. Instead, she lifted her head and looked down at him, a shy smile on her lips.

Gently massaging her breasts, he lifted his head and kissed her deeply. Another moan left her mouth when Cæna slipped his tongue past her lips, letting it graze against hers. Thora’s tail snaked its way around his waist and down his stomach. She grinned against his mouth as she moved it across the bulge growing between his legs, earning a quiet gasp from him.

“Someone’s being a wee bit impatient,” he murmured teasingly. He pulled back just far enough to allow him to remove Thora’s top, which he haphazardly tossed aside.

A playful pout came to her face as she lightly pulled at the laces on his tunic, loosening them. She could see hints of bruising along her shoulders; the leftovers from a bar fight he told her. “I’m allowed t’ be,” she told him, hands sliding down his chest. Undoing his belt, she tossed it aside before starting to remove his tunic. “Especially after what happened the other day…”

Cæna cringed at the memory of nearly being caught snogging by Ulfr. “Don’t remind me,” he murmured, raising his arms up for her. As Thora tossed his tunic aside, a mischievous grin came to his lips and he caught her wrists.

She let out a curse before falling into a giggle fit. Cæna had spun them around, trapping her between him and the ground and lightly pinning her arms above her head. “What’re you doin’?” she questioned, smiling as he nuzzled her.

“ _I’m_ being patient,” he teased. He felt her tail wrap around his back, the tuft of hair at its end tickling his side. Letting go of Thora’s wrists, he kissed his way down her throat and between her breasts. “We have all the time in the world out here.” As he spoke, he untied her skirt and pulled the fabric away from her body. He kissed further down her stomach, earning a quiet moan as he gently spread her legs. “I’m going to make sure we _enjoy_ it.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was storming again.

There were two ways Dagur knew it was storming: One, whenever it rained, his cell became even colder and damp; two, the thunder was strong and loud enough to shake the whole island. All around him were those Outcasts who had remained loyal to him upon Alvin’s return or those who had simply angered Alvin enough to warrant their imprisonment.

Their voices irritated him. Especially the Outcast in the cell beside his -his voice was especially whiny. Dagur was certain he had been raised a spoiled brat. With it being late at night, however, they were all fast asleep, granting him a few hours’ reprieve.

But he couldn’t sleep. Not tonight. All day, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach was telling him that something was wrong. He didn’t know _what_ was wrong and he probably _wouldn’t_ find out what was wrong. He barely got news of the outside world as it was.

‘No one had better be attacking Berserk,’ he thought, getting up and beginning to pace about his cell. ‘They’re weak without me and Fylkir. I was on the verge of bringing them back to greatness when this all happened.’

Shaking his head, he let out a heavy sigh and hopped onto the ledge he called his bed. Reaching up, he grabbed hold of a well-worn handhold and started lifting himself with one arm. Even though he was trapped on this gods-forsaken island, he wanted to keep his body ready for the day he would manage to escape.

His clothes, however, were paying the price. Already he had been forced to add new holes to his belt and he discarded his arm guards -his growing biceps made them far too tight.

‘Maybe Tyra’s assumed the throne by now?’ he thought, not bothering to count his reps. He normally aimed for twenty pullups per arm. ‘She’s always wanted it and didn’t bother hiding that fact when we were together…ugh. I hope she hasn’t. She’s almost worse than me in some regards. Vigdís, though…She’d make an alright queen -a _temporary_ queen, that is.’

Switching arms, he closed his eyes. ‘Once I’m out of here, I’m reclaiming my throne. Then I’m going to find brother Hiccup and that Night Fury of his…’ A wicked grin spread across his lips. ‘I’ll make them pay for embarrassing me so often _and_ locking me up in this jail. I’ll have them kissing my boots and _begging_ for mercy…’

A glow appeared at the end of the hallway, though he didn’t notice it at first. As it grew closer and brighter, though, he opened his eyes only to squint against the light. Once his eyes adjusted, he could see one of the guards walking towards him, a torch in one hand and a small cauldron in the other.

“I was wonderin’ if you’d still be awake, what with the storm roarin’ an’ all,” said the guard. He put the torch in a holder on the wall.

Dropping down from his spot, Dagur approached the cell door. “And just why are _you_ still awake, Logmar?” he questioned, brow rising. “I thought your rooms were far enough underground that you couldn’t hear the storm?”

It took him a bit of work, but Logmar managed to wiggle the cauldron of stew through the iron bars. “I thought ya could use a proper meal after all that hardtack you’ve been gettin’.” He pulled a long spoon from his belt and tossed it into the cauldron.

His brow still raised, Dagur cautiously eyed the pot’s contents. Some sort of stew, by the looks of it. This wasn’t the first time Logmar had brought him actual food, though it confused him _why_ this Outcast was doing such a thing. Was he trying to gain his trust only to poison him by surprise?

Regardless of Logmar’s true intentions, Dagur’s stomach rumbled loudly and he sat down, giving the pot a stir. “Tell me, Logmar: Why do you always bring me the good stuff? Wouldn’t you rather give it to your imprisoned compatriots?”

He raised his brow, watching as Dagur lifted a spoonful of the stew from the pot and smelled it. “It’s fish stew,” he told him, “an’ I’m givin’ _you_ the ‘good stuff’ as ya call it for two reasons. One bein’ that you’re a chieftain an’ they deserve somewhat better treatment than the average men.”

Dagur glanced up at him, having not tasted the stew yet. “And the second?” He finally moved to take a sip of the thick broth, having not smelled anything unusual.

“Ya saved Thora’s life.”

Dagur nearly choked on the broth. “Wha-what was that?” he demanded, brows furrowing together.

Logmar’s brow rose. “Clearly, ya heard me the first time.” He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Dagur wipe a mixture of spittle and stew from his chin. “Ya saved her life by stoppin’ Alvin from beheadin’ her.”

“She’s going to be my queen; of _course_ I saved her,” he replied, his tone almost offended. He finally managed to take a proper bite of the stew. It wasn’t the most flavorful of meals, but it was better than the bread and cheese he normally got.

“Ya keep sayin’ stuff like that, an’ yet, I haven’t seen any actual evidence o’ her _wantin’_ t’ be your queen.”

Dagur shot him a glare that would normally strike fear into a man’s heart. “ _What_ did you just say?” he growled. He angrily ate another bite of stew, spitting out a bone when he crunched into it.

Logmar made sure to take a precautionary step away from the cell. “Thora never seemed the least bit interested in ya. Aye, she flirted with ya an’ let ya hold her an’ kiss her, but she didn’t enjoy it.” He shrugged, boredly looking away from the prisoner.

“And just how would _you_ know what she did and didn’t enjoy?” he snarled. “I highly doubt you know _anything_ about women, what with the severe lack of them on this island.”

“She never smiled.”

Dagur cocked his brow. “Of _course_ she smiled. She smiled, she laughed, she cried tears of joy-”

“Don’t know ‘bout the last one, but the first two? She was acting. There was no happiness in her eyes. Even someone as thickheaded as _you_ should have been able t’ see that.”

Clenching his teeth, Dagur angrily pointed the spoon at Logmar. “Thora _told_ me she wanted to be my queen and she also told me how much she cares about me,” he growled. “You’re probably just saying all of this in an attempt -a very _miserable_ attempt- to make me fall _out_ of love with her.”

Logmar gave him a confused look. “What?”

“You’re trying to get me to question the sincerity of her feelings towards me! I bet you’re doing this because _you_ want her for yourself!” Dagur accused before laughing darkly. “Well, I have news for you, buddy: It’s _not_ going to work.”

Shaking his head, Logmar turned away from Dagur and started walking away. “We really need to start givin’ ya fresh cheese…the old stuff is clearly makin’ ya even more deranged…”

Dagur glared at his retreating back, all the while still eating his stew. The longer he ate, the angrier he got. His anger wasn’t just directed at Logmar, however -oh no. The longer he ate, the longer he thought. And the more he thought, the more he began to realize something: Logmar was right.

Thora _didn’t_ love him.

 

* * *

 

 

A soft groan of pain echoed through the nearly-empty house. Sindri shook his head and, marking his page, set aside his book before rising from his seat. Grabbing a bottle of purple liquid from the stash of medicine Ormr kept in the main room, he headed towards Thora’s room. He paused just outside her door, scrunching his nose up as he heard her start coughing only to end up puking. With a sigh, he waited until she was done before lightly knocking and entering the room.

“Not feeling better?” he questioned, a pitying expression on his face.

Thora shook her head. Curled up in a ball, she looked even smaller than normal on her enormous bed. “My fever hasn’t broken yet,” she told him, her voice nasally and hoarse, “an’ it’s hard keepin’ anythin’ down. Cajsa brought me some soup last night, but…well…” She tiredly nodded at the bucket on her stairs.

Sitting beside his sister, Sindri pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. He didn’t like how pale her skin was or that she was covered in a thin layer of sweat. “Not dangerous warm,” he told her, “but yes. Still feverish. Brought some medicine for throat. Hope can keep this down; should help stomach a bit, too.” He found himself glad that he had braided her hair the day before yesterday; he didn’t want to imagine the mess it would have become by now if he hadn’t braided it.

“Which medicine?”

He held up the bottle. “This one. Lavender-peppermint base. Both good for sickly little sisters named Thora.”

She managed to smile at him and even let out a small laugh. “Thank ya.”

Sindri uncorked the bottle and, being very gentle, helped her to sit up. He was even more careful as he held the bottle to her lips, allowing only a small amount to flow out of it. Unable to stop himself, he quietly laughed as Thora scrunched up her face at the flavor.

“Not best tasting, I know,” he told her. “But will help. Promise.”

Thora forced herself to swallow the medicine, though it burned all the way down. “I’m sorry ya an’ Cajsa have t’ take care o’ me like this,” she groaned. “If Ulfr an’ Ormr hadn’t taken the other servants with them on their trip, ya could be in town, doin’ your lordly stuff instead o’ havin’ t’ stay home…”

At that, Sindri frowned. “No apologizing,” he gently scolded, waving his finger at her. “You are _ill_ , Little Sister Thora. What need is someone to care for you! Yes, am not most…eh…qualified? Yes. Am not most qualified brother for job, but know enough to help.” Leaning over, he brushed a fresh loose strands of hair out of her face before kissing the top of her head. “Am your big brother. Is job to take care of you. Understand?”

She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “Aye, I understand,” she chuckled. Her stomach felt like it was on fire from the medicine, but it wasn’t protesting -for once. “Why are they gone anyway? Ya never told me.”

For just a few seconds, there was a dark look on Sindri’s face. It was quickly replaced by his usual mixture of mirth and tenderness. “They are on trip to…eh, how would say skoða? Rannsaka?”

Having picked up quite a bit of their tongue during her stay, Thora offered a translation for him. “Investigate?” she suggested.

“Yes. They are on trip to investigate some rumors have heard lately.”

“What kind o’—” She was interrupted by another coughing fit. Thankfully, this one didn’t end up with her throwing up.

Regardless, Sindri reached over and gently rubbed her back, trying to help ease her tense back muscles. “Not sure if should tell you. At least, not when are sick. Don’t want worrying too much…”

As her coughing subsided, Thora gave him a tired, yet dry, look. “Sindri…ya just made me start worryin’ by sayin’ that.”

He cringed and an apologetic expression came to his face. “Am sorry…Guess should tell then, eh?” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “For few months, have been hearing rumors of large numbers of veiðimenn gathering in south-east. In Bludvist territory.”

Her brows furrowed and she grabbed a pillow, holding onto it. “What…? Where’s Bludvist territory? An’ how many hunters can there be? Surely not too many, since our kind hide away so well…” She used her tail to fan herself as she felt a hot flash coming on.

“Bludvist territory is…eh, far from here. Down closer to Gaul and Rome.” He let out a sigh as he stood up, going over to her window. Opening the shutters, he let out a small yelp as he found Death Dance on the other side, trying her best to try and peek in. “Death…scared me.” Reaching out, he patted her snout. “Little Sister still ill, so no flying together yet, alright?”

A disappointed sound came from Death Dance and she turned her head, pressing her large eye against the window. Seeing her rider in bed, she made a gentle, almost purr-like sound. To no avail, she tried to poke her nose in, but the window was much too small.

“It’s alright girl,” Thora assured her. “I’ll be back on my feet in a few days. I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied by this answer, Death Dance made the purring sound again before waddling a few yards away and laying down. Sindri quietly chuckled as the sight of her, thinking her very much like an extremely large dog.

“So what about the hunters?” Thora questioned again as her brother sat down once more. “Ya didn’t answer me ‘bout them…”

A heavy sigh left his mouth and he leaned back slightly, though he didn’t reply straight away. It was obvious he was trying to come up with a way to explain it to her -and that he hadn’t wanted to be the one to have this talk. Normally, it was Ulfr who explained the harsher realities of their life to her, not happy-go-lucky Sindri.

“There many types of veiðimenn,” he started. “There troll veiðimenn, dwarf veiðimenn, huldra veiðimenn -if not a human, there probably a veiðimenn trained to kill them.” Once more, he ran a hand through his hair. “Enda Fjarðarins largest city of non-humans in known world. Yes, live _with_ humans, but majority _not_ human. But, as have seen, we are peaceful. We are merchants. We are welcoming. But still, veiðimenn hate us.

“As know, veiðimenn originally came from Rome. Not know why, but Romans drove their own non-humans into hiding or into forever-death.”

“Extinction,” Thora quietly corrected.

“Yes. Drove into extinction. Since then, veiðimenn have spread all over continent, but stay mostly in southern parts. Not know why they avoid north; maybe too many non-humans live up here and they know that. But can’t be sure.”

“But they shouldn’t be doing this,” she argued. “If they lived amongst non-humans before, they should know that non-humans can be just like them!”

He shook his head. “I do not know why they do this. Just know that there were no veiðimenn before Roman Empire came along -and that happened _long_ ago. Before mother was born. Are still some safe places in Roman lands, of course, but…”

“Most o’ the non-humans are gone now.”

He nodded. “Except dragons. For some reason, Romans not want to deal with them. Bludvist, though? Bludvist will deal with dragons.” He sighed yet again; it was obvious this was a hard subject for him. “But yes. Ulfr, Ormr, I heard rumors that veiðimenn were gathering. Not first time they’ve gathered, either. Happened ten years ago, as well…”

Thora frowned, seeing a great deal of sorrow come to Sindri face. “That’s when…that’s when Greta -I mean mom- was killed, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He wiped a tear from his eye before it could fall. Taking a deep breath, he managed to show his sister a reassuring smile. “But, had no warning then. May have warning now. If rumors are true, then have time to prepare. Have time to build defenses, gather supplies.” Standing up, he went over to her door and poked his head out, calling for Cajsa.

Coming back into the room, he looked at his little sister; the joy had return to his face. “But, is not good for sick little sisters to think of war. Need to think about getting better!” Kneeling before her trunk, he opened it and pulled out a fresh change of clothes for her. “Know just thing to help feel _a bit_ better, too.”

“What’s that?” she questioned, knowing better than to inquire further about the hunters.

“Nice, hot bath!” he chirped. Seconds later, the pale, rounded face of Cajsa appeared in the doorway.

“Called for me?” she questioned, tilting her head. She looked at Thora, a look of pity coming to her large, brown eyes. “Need sick bucket emptied again, dear?” Coming fully into the room, she headed over to the bed. “Would like to try some broth again soon?”

Sindri cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Actually, would like bucket emptied _and_ bath drawn.” He then fell back into their native language which rolled off his tongue much faster than the Common Tongue. “Kasta í uppáhalds olíum hennar eins vel og brugga smá myntu te. Ég get fengið seyði byrjaði fyrir þig.”

She glanced between him and Thora; she knew they were supposed to use Common Tongue, but if Lord Sindri was speaking otherwise…“Já, herra minn. Viltu neitt annað gert?“

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Nodding, Cajsa picked up the bucket of puke before heading down the steps and out of the room.

A quiet groan left Thora’s mouth as she closed her eyes; the hot flash had passed, leaving her feeling unpleasantly cold. Using her tail, she pulled her blanket up to her chin. “I wish we had somethin’ that could make me better right away,” she murmured.

Sindri lightly patted her with his tail. “After bath, will try some broth, eh? Then will give sleeping medicine. Maybe will start feeling better in morning.”

“I hope…”

 

* * *

 

 

“No, no -that’s all wrong. You gotta tie it _this_ way, otherwise the rope won’t release.”

“But _you_ told me to do it _this_ way!”

“Why would _I_ tell you to do it the _wrong_ way?”

“Uh, because you’re a jerk?”

“So are you.”

“Well, duh. We’re twins. We’re _both_ jerks.”

Ruffnut rolled her eyes as Tuffnut grinned cheekily at her. “Whatever. _This_ is the right way to tie the knot. See how this part slides through easily? That’s what we want if this prank is to work.”

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms as he watched his sister retie the knots he had just finished. “Like I said, you were the one who told me to use those ones.”

“And I say I _didn’t_ tell you, but whatever.” She grumbled under her breath, finishing up the last of the three knots. “There. Now go make sure the net’s properly attached, alright?”

Tuffnut cocked his brow. “You’re sure bossy today,” he said, standing up. “What, did you sit on a stick or somethin’?” Going over to the spread-out net on the ground, he started checking its connection to another rope.

“No,” she tersely replied. “It’s none of your business.”

He glanced over from checking the net. He knew his sister well enough to know that something was _not_ right. “Alright.” Forgoing the task at hand, he returned to Ruffnut and plopped down in front of her. Crossing his arms and his legs, he looked her in the eye. “Spill the cabbages, sister.”

“I told you, it’s none of your business,” she growled, looking away.

His brow rose. “As earlier stated, I’m your twins and yes, I’m a jerk. But even I’m not enough of a jerk to get you _this_ ticked off. Clearly, there’s something else bothering you. What is it?” When she remained silent, his frown grew and he leaned over, trying to get back in her field of vision. “C’mon, sis. You know you can tell me.”

Ruffnut glanced at her brother from the corner of her eye. She was more than a little surprised to see genuine concern on his face as he tried to get her attention. Sighing in defeat, she rolled her eyes and slumped back against the tree.

“Fine. But you gotta promise that you won’t tell anyone, alright? Least of all mom and Buck—dad. You got that?”

“I promise,” he told her, making a sewing motion across his lips.

“And you gotta promise that you will _not_ laugh.”

His brow rose; why would he laugh at something causing his sister pain? Sure, physical pain was alright -but emotional? That was _not_ alright in his book. “Yeah, I promise.”

Ruffnut sighed, remaining silent for a minute. She knew Tuffnut was prone to breaking promises, so she was leery of actually telling him the truth. But the amount of worry on his face and how quickly he had agreed to the promises made her believe him - _this_ time.

“Kenna and Yngling Berg.”

“What about them?”

“They’re…They’re just…Hot! They’re hot, alright? Both of them.” Her cheeks had turned bright red and she was refusing to look at her brother. “Not only are they hot, but Kenna’s twice as feisty as Astrid, almost as smart as Fishlegs, and like…Her hair is amazing. And then Yngling’s growing that beard and he’s great at poetry and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy who chops wood like he does.” She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “They make me feel things I didn’t know I _could_ feel and I like…I don’t know, I just want to be around them and hug them and stuff.”

Tuffnut tilted his head to side. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve got a crush on the Berg twins,” he stated.

“I guess,” she grumbled. “But like, how can I have a crush on _both_ of them? People are only supposed to have a crush or love one person at a time.”

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms once again. “Who said that?”

Her brow rose. “It’s a well-known fact, Tuffnut.”

“No, it’s a well-known _presumption_ ,” he corrected. “Dude, love is weird. I mean, look at Freya -she’s madly in love with her husband, yet she also takes on _lovers_. Not bed warmers, not one-nighters –No. She takes on _lovers_. And she’s not the only one. Practically _all_ the Æsir and Vanir have _lovers_.”

Lifting one hand, he looked at his nails, using his thumbnail to clean under his middle finger. “So, really, it’s weird for people to devote themselves to just _one_ person if our gods are in love with multiple people. Which then, in turn, makes _me_ really weird since I’ve never had a crush.” He glanced up at Ruffnut, who had tilted her head somewhat as he spoke. “Was that confusing? I feel like I didn’t explain it thoroughly enough.”

“N-no, you made total sense,” she assured him. “I just…I just never thought of it that way before. I mean, most of the gods have spouses, so I just thought…”

“That their spouse had their whole heart and the others were just sex buddies?” he chuckled.

She shrugged, but nodded. “I guess.”

“Nah.” He grinned. “Sex buddies don’t get named in the tales. Lovers and spouses do.” He then paused, thinking for a moment. “Unless you’re that weird god from the Rome area. The one who has sex with any and everything living…What’s his name…?”

“Jupiter?”

“Yeah, him. His sex buddies get named in their tales only because of how outrageous the guy is. I mean, did you hear the one about how he turned into a puddle of liquid gold and impregnated a woman?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “No way.”

“Totally! Trader Johann told me about it,” he chuckled. “But, that’s for another time. Back to your love troubles.”

Sighing, she looked away from him again. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, should I tell them? Or should I just keep it to myself?”

He shrugged, moving on to cleaning his index finger. “Well, you have been hanging around them a lot lately, what with mom volunteering you to help them with their wood cutting business while their dad is out with that broken arm and leg. That means you’ll be around them a lot more in the future. With how you were acting earlier, I’d say it’d be best to tell them so you don’t blow up at them during work one day.”

“You don’t think they’ll call me a disgusting whore of a woman for wanting to be with them both and proceed to shun me for the rest of my life?”

Tuffnut raised his brow. “Dude, if they called you a whore, I’ll personally beat the crap out of them,” he told her, nothing but seriousness on his face. “But, I doubt they’d say that. What do _you_ think they’d do?”

“Why’re you asking me?! I’m the one having the dilemma involving them!”

“Yeah, but you know them a lot better than I do. I barely know them.”

A heavy sigh left Ruffnut’s mouth and she let her head fall back against the tree trunk. A long, aggravated groan left her mouth as she closed her eyes. “I--I don’t think they’d do that,” she admitted. “They’re far too…not calm, but…

“Laidback? Carefree?”

“Laidback works, I guess,” she sighed. “They’re too laidback to really have that sort of reaction.”

A wry smile came to Tuffnut’s lips. “So, what do you think the worst case scenario would be?”

“That they’re both not interested and working alongside them is awkward for a while.”

“So…now that you’ve come to _that_ conclusion, what’re you going to do about this situation?”

A small, defeated smile appeared on her face. “I guess I’ll tell them,” she said.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“Less stressed,” she admitted. “Thanks.”

He grinned cheekily. “What are jerky twin brothers for?” He laughed as Ruffnut reached over with her foot, giving his foot a shove.

“So, you’ve really _never_ had a crush?” Ruffnut questioned after a few minutes of silence. Tuffnut nodded, making her brow rise. “But I thought you and Toril Urdsdotter were a thing for a while?”

Tuffnut snickered. “Nah. We flirted and fooled around a bit, but only because we found each other hot,” he admitted, crossing his legs out in front of him. “And we both told each other that at the start, too, so there was like, no chance of either of us getting confused by the other.”

“Huh. So…even though you don’t have like, lovey-dovey feelings, you still _kinda_ get feelings?”

“The only feelings I get towards people are the ones I feel in my trousers,” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “You are _so_ weird, Tuff.”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Yeah, but so are you. Oh! I know what it is: When we were still in mom’s stomach or whatever, _you_ got _both_ our lovey-dovey hearts, leaving me with none. So, really, by loving multiple people, you’re just making up for the fact that I _can’t_ love them.”

Ruffnut looked surprisingly impressed. “You know, that’s actually a fairly good theory,” she told him. “Too bad we don’t have a way to actually prove it, though…”

“Well, we could open your chest and, if we find two hearts, we’ll have our answer!”

Her brow rose, her amazement leaving almost instantly. “Uh, there is _no_ way I’m letting you do that.” She glanced behind him as she heard voices coming their way. Straining her neck a bit, her eyes suddenly widened in horror. “Oh gods, there they are! Tuffnut, what do I do?! They’re not supposed to be in the forest _today_! It’s their day off!” she harshly whispered, grabbing her brother by the shoulders.

Tuffnut winced in pain. “Dude, stay calm!” Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her down onto the ground again. “Remember what we went over: The worst case scenario isn’t that bad. And, if you’re not ready, you _don’t_ have to tell them now.”

She bit her lip, stealing a look at the approaching twins; they hadn’t seemed to notice the Thorstons yet. “But they’re so _pretty_!”

“Do you want to tell them now?”

She bit a little harder on her lip before replacing it with her pointer finger. “I..>I don’t know. Tuff, I don’t know! Help me out here!”

Tuffnut gave her an encouraging smile. “I think it’s best to get it over with. I’ll hide behind a tree, alright? That way you don’t have to worry about me messing things up for you.”

Nodding quickly, Ruffnut watched as Tuffnut crawled behind the tree. He poked his head out momentarily to give her a double thumbs’ up before hiding once more. Swallowing hard, she got to her feet only to realize her and Tuffnut’s trap was still in the road -unfinished, but still obviously there.

Eyes widening, she darted out and started to disassemble it. Yngling and Kenna jumped back, startled by her sudden appearance, but chuckled as they saw her.

“Hey, Ruffnut!” Yngling called. “Didn’t expect t’ find you out here on an off day!”

She stood upright, cheeks red as she tried to hide the net behind her back. “Er…Yeah! Uh, I was just thinkin’ the same about you two!” she nervously laughed.

“That one of yours and Tuffnut’s pranks behind your back?” Kenna grinned, a knowing look on her face. “Who’s it for?”

Ruffnut felt her cheeks grow a bit darker. “Ah, heh -it _was_ meant for Snotlout, but it wasn’t working out right,” she half-lied, innocently glancing away. “Hey, uh…since you two are here and all, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

 

* * *

 

 

Thora shivered, bringing her cloak closer around her body. Winter was coming; it wasn’t unwelcomed though. Her brothers had told her the hunters came from places of warmer weather and many had never seen snow before. The cold would be an asset in the coming war.

She shuddered at the thought.

A month ago, when Ulfr and Ormr had returned from their scouting mission, they had brought only bad news: The hunters were amassing an army four days south-east of Enda Fjarðarins. Upon their return, Ulfr had the city begin readying itself for war. Those who were incapable of fighting or healing were being gradually sent northwards, to stay with the tribe ruled over by Ulfr’s wife. Those who _were_ able to fight or heal found themselves either helping strengthen the city’s defenses or creating a stockpile of bandages and medicines.

Thora had questioned Ulfr about why they couldn’t just use magic to help with the defenses. He had thought about it, he said, but realized that it would be of little use: If everyone in a single area were to be constantly using their magic in a single area for a prolonged period -such as the period it would take to shape walls, form hidden pits, et cetera- the earth in that area would _lose_ its magic. It would no longer be able to produce magic and the land would grow weak and infertile.

As such, Ulfr and Sindri spent most of their days tending to the fortifications of the land. Ormr spent his days in the sea with other sea trolls and water spirits, helping those who were fleeing to safety or making sure that their fjord was too dangerous to enter should the hunters come by sea. To no one’s surprise, the gathering and readying of weapons was left to Jeltsje, who, as Thora had come to learn over the last year and a half, had once been one of Freya’s Valkyrie.

This left Thora in charge of the production of bandages and medicines. It was hard work, especially when she had to oversee a group of fifteen women of varying races and nearly all of whom were older than her. At first, she had been certain they would try to question her authority or her methods of making supplies, but she was glad to find that she was wrong. The women were, in fact, quite nice and worked to help cheer one another up when their conversations started taking darker turns. The eldest, an Anjana from Cantabria -a place far to the south of Gaul- even took the time to show her a quicker, sturdier weave for the bandages.

But now, as she walked home, the only thing Thora could think about was how badly she wanted a hot bath. Her back ached and her fingers were stiff from the hours bent over the loom, making yards upon yards of bandages. Rolling her head around her shoulders, she felt the bones of her neck pop back into place and she sighed.

‘Too bad Death is grounded until this whole thing’s over,’ she thought, adjusting the ax strapped to her back. ‘It’d be much quicker getting home with her, but I know it’s too much of a risk flying her right now.’

As she walked through the forest, she looked around. The birds had flown south for the winter, leaving an eerie quietness in their place. Normally, the silence didn’t bother her but, for some reason, something felt _off_ tonight.

Frowning, she shifted the ax once more, bringing it down to her side.

‘I don’t like this,’ she thought, glancing around. She could see nothing out of the ordinary, but soon, she started hearing hushed voices. ‘Definitely not any of my brothers…those voices aren’t nearly deep enough.’

Biting her tongue, she looked in the direction of the voices before looking down the road towards her home. Taking a deep breath, she unshouldered her ax and, holding it at the ready, left the road. She was careful to avoid stepping on any branches or in the few clusters of dead, dry leaves as she walked. Her task was made somewhat easier by her tail, which she had wrapped around her cloak to keep it close to her body and away from anything that would gladly snatch at it.

As the voices started growing louder, she slowed her pace; she had already gone nearly half a mile into the forest -far father than she should have. But, she thought, if someone was this far away from the city, it couldn’t be for any good reasons. Yes, she should have gone home and told her brothers, but as she neared the source of the conversation, she could only hear two participants. Surely she could handle _two_ people on her own.

“Quod in meridionali urbis moenia?” the first voice spoke, though she didn’t recognize the language. She was not surprised to hear the voice belonging to a man. His voice was deep and rich, but there was also a sharp cruelness to his tone.

Thora shuddered. Whoever he was, he was _trouble._

“Debiliores sunt. Ehh…et puto, ab oriente. Eastern defense validissimas,” said the second voice -another man. The strange language was clearly not his mother tongue. His voice also sounded familiar, but she was still too far away to place it.

“Ah? Quod ita sit?” The deep-voiced man let out a laugh. “Bene nobis bonum. Credo, nobis erit decepit eos troll adulteri et non videtur. Mortibus aegrotationum morientur non videntes ratus effusionis sanguinis eorum conferre in terram…”

By now, Thora could see the silhouettes of the two men just a few yards ahead of her. She pulled up her hood, hiding her greyish hair, and crept close to them, making sure to stay low to the ground and close to the tree trunks. Pressing herself against the base of the tree nearest to them, she squinted through the dimming light only to have her eyes widen in horror.

Cæna was leaning against a tree, a handsome grin on his face as he spoke to the other man. “Oportet semper talking de belli?” he said.

The other chuckled and stepped closer to him, running a gloved finger along his jaw. “And what does my Norseman want to talk about instead?” he questioned, speaking perfect Norse, despite his thick accent. As he pressed herself against Cæna, Thora felt anger quickly overtaking the horror and shock she had felt.

“Oh, _now_ you talk in my tongue, Vincent,” he chuckled, hooking an arm around his waist, pulling them even closer together. “There’s _plenty_ we could talk about. We have all night, after all.” He smirked, dragging his lips along his jaw. “Or, if you’d like,” he murmured, “we don’t have to _talk_ …”

The man let out a sigh and tilted his head back, granting him access to his neck. “Mm…I like the sounds of that,” he murmured, raising a hand and stroking the back of Cæna’s head. “It has been quite a while, after all…Since September, I believe?” He forcibly tilted Cæna’s head back and kissed him hard on the lips, pressing him against the tree; a grunt left his lover’s mouth, earning a grin from Vincent. “And someone deserves a reward for his good work.”

That was too much for Thora to handle. “Ya thrice-damned bloody traitor!” she screamed. With rage filling every fiber of her being, she darted out from her hiding spot, the ax raised above her head.

Cæna’s eyes shot open. “Thora?!” he cried before being shoved back by Vincent. He grunted, falling to the ground and landing hard on his backside.

There was a loud crack as Thora swung her ax, but Vincent had blocked it with the shaft of a now-broken spear. Pushing himself upright, Cæna watched him jump aside as Thora made to swing again, but it was a feint on the half-troll’s part. Using her tail, she grabbed Vincent’s arm and pulled the hunter straight into her bent elbow, surely breaking his nose. Vincent fell to the ground, his hand on his bloodied nose and his mind dazed by the blow.

Planting her foot on the hunter’s chest, Thora raised the ax over her head, ready to deliver the killing blow-

But then the ax flew from her hands as something yanked it backwards. Thora fell to the ground with a curse. Rolling onto her side, she was in time to see a second hunter coming towards her, a whip in one hand and a shield in the other; her ax was nowhere to be found. Another curse flew from her mouth as something slammed into her back, forcing her face into the cold earth.

“What have we here, eh?” Vincent cackled, his foot digging painfully between Thora’s shoulder blades. His other foot stomped down on her tail, pinning it out of the way as he grabbed her wrists. Holding them together with one hand, he hurriedly undid his belt before using it to tie her arms together.

As he stood up, he kicked her in the ribs with surprising strength, forcing her to roll over. Kneeling down once more, he grabbed Thora’s chin and forced her to look at him; he was more than a little surprised to find that she was a half-troll. “Ah! So there _are_ still half-trolls around, eh?” He cackled as she wheezed in pain from his kick, then narrowed his eyes. “Hm. You look fairly familiar, though…I wonder, have I killed other members of your family?” He looked over at the other hunter, the two of them laughing.

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” Thora snapped, rolling her eyes. She was in absolutely _no_ mood to put up with this; in fact, she didn’t so much care about the two hunters as she did Cæna’s whereabouts. Once she got her hands on that lying, traitorous bastard…

A grunt left her mouth as the second hunter suddenly came over and, grabbing a fistful of hair, dragged her over to one of the trees. She tried to struggle free of their grip, but with a swift punch to the gut, the air was knocked from her lungs and she fell limp, gasping for air.

Cæna swallowed hard, watching as Thora was tied to the tree. A groan left her mouth as she started regaining breath. As the hunter finished tying the knot, they flew backwards; Thora had brought her legs up and kicked them.

Vincent smirked, pulling a knife from under his cloak. He didn’t seem to care about the other hunter as they cursed, slowly getting to their feet. “I think I’m going to have fun with you,” he chirped, flicking his thumb across the blade to check its sharpness. He glanced over at Cæna, who had gotten to his feet and was now brushing himself off. “Are you alright, my Norseman?”

“F-fine,” he replied, glancing over at the two. “What are you going t’ do to her?”

He shrugged, a wry smile on her lips. “Oh, nothing much. Just get a little information out of her…Maybe make her beg for mercy.” He glanced down at Thora, wickedly smirking. “But, if she tells me what I want…”

“I’m not one for beggin’,” Thora growled. She glanced over at Cæna, her eyes fixed with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Nor am I one for betrayin’ my people.”

Vincent saw the look in her eyes and raised his brow, chuckling. “It seems you and my little Norseman are acquainted. _Well_ acquainted, judging by the look of death on your face.” He winced, his eyes closing as Thora spat at him. Frowning, he wiped away the spit and knelt down, once again snatching Thora’s chin in a vice-like grip.

Thora gasped, feeling Vincent’s knife slice across her neck. The wound wasn’t deep enough to be deadly -but it soon started to burn. ‘Poison,’ Thora thought, swallowing hard. ‘That, or the hunters use a different sort of oil on their weapons…’

“ _That_ ,” Vincent hissed, glaring Thora in the eye, “is your first warning. I suggest you behave from now on.”

Thora flashed her teeth at him, but said nothing.

“What is your name?” Vincent demanded.

Still, Thora said nothing. Instead, she concentrated on trying to summon the trees roots from the ground.

“I said, _what is your name?_ ” he commanded once again.

For some reason, despite her best efforts, Thora wasn’t able to summon the tree roots. She tried calling to the branches above, but they didn’t budge. ‘Why isn’t my magic working!?’ she thought.

A curse flew from her mouth as Vincent slashed her neck again -another surface wound that soon began burning.

“ _What is_ -” he began, but was cut off.

“Thora Gretasdotter,” Cæna answered. “She’s kin to Ulfr the Unforgiving. His little sister, in fact.”

“You shut up!” Thora snarled at him, feeling her blood beginning to soak into her undershirt and tunic. Vincent, on the other hand, grinned and looked at her with rekindled interest.

“His little sister? Well, that certainly explains a few things,” he murmured, speaking more to himself than the others. “It would seem my night has grown a bit more interesting…”

Thora growled, though remained silent. From the corner of her eye, she could see Cæna slowly lowering himself to the ground. She didn’t much care why, however, as Vincent pressed the knife against her throat, though he didn’t cut her.

“Such a shame, really. I was hoping to have a little _fun_ tonight,” he told her. “But! Bringing Ulfr the Unforgiving’s little sister to my superiors will certainly be rewarding in its own right.”

A challenging look came to Thora’s face as she leaned her head down, pressing the blade further against her skin. “You’d be better off killin’ me,” she hissed, feeling the burning begin for a third time, “because I’m not tellin’ _anythin’_ t’ _anyone_.”

Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but was again cut short. This time, it was by the sound of an ax splitting a skull in half. His eyes widening, he spun around in time to see his companion crumple to the ground. Cæna held Thora’s bloodied ax, all too impressed by it.

He shrugged, giving the ax a quick toss in the air, watching as it spun around before he caught it by the shaft. “Do I know how t’ make a good ax or _what_?” he chuckled, a hand on his hip as he tossed the ax again.

“What are you doing!?” Vincent cried, dropping his knife in surprise. “Are you _crazy?!_ ”

Cæna shrugged. “No,” he replied. “But you know who is? _You_.” Darting forward, he swung the ax at Vincent.

Vincent, though startled by the sudden betrayal of his supposed lover, was able to throw himself out of the way. Reaching under his cloak, he drew two, strange knives that fit over his fist and forearm. With these, he was able to block Cæna’s next swing, but the force of the blow made him stumble back.

As the two men fought, Thora cursed to herself. With her hands bound behind her back, she didn’t have the leverage she needed to break the ropes. Shifting her legs, she tried to push herself up and out of the ropes around her torso, but it was of no use -her hips were too big. Trying to wriggle downwards didn’t work either -she couldn’t get her chin past the ropes.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted Vincent’s forgotten dagger. Glancing over at the fighting pair, she bit her tongue. They were still occupied. She reached out with her foot, trying to reach it so she could toe it closer, but it was of no use. Even when she wriggled herself as far down as she could, it was still out of reach.

“Thora, you’re an idiot,” she murmured under her breath. Reaching out with her tail this time, she cursed her own stupidity as she was able to finally grab hold of the knife. She began sawing at the ropes; it was an odd, difficult task her tail wasn’t used to doing.

Nor was it a task she got to finish. Before she had finished cutting through the rope, there was a dull thud and the rope pinning her to the tree fell limp. Looking up, she saw Cæna, bruised, bloodied, and victorious, standing above her. She bared her teeth as he knelt down beside her.

“Get away from me!” she snapped.

“Thora, let me explain-”

“What’s t’ explain?! Not only did I catch ya cheatin’ on me, but I caught ya cheatin’ on me with a _hunter_?!”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away from her. “I know it _looks_ bad-”

“You’re damned right it looks bad!”

“- _But_ that’s not what was goin’ on!” His voice grew a bit firmer now. “Yes, I was spyin’, but _not_ on Enda Fjarðarins. I was spyin’ _for_ Enda Fjarðarins and I have been for a few years now.”

She growled, scooting away from him, her hands still bound behind her back. “I don’t believe ya.”

“I know you don’t,” he said. “And you won’t believe me until we get to Ulfr.”

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. “Oh, ya think I’m goin’ t’ let ya live that long?” she snapped, tears stinging her eyes. “After what I found ya doin’? You’d be lucky t’ last long enough t’ even _blink_ once I get these ropes off my wrists!”

He frowned and sighed. “Thora, I swear to the gods-”

“I don’t care what ya swear!” she shouted, the tears now freely flowing down her face. “I should have known it was all a lie!” A choked sob left her mouth and she clenched her eyes shut. She tried to stop herself from crying, but it was useless. “I should have known it! No man as handsome as _ya_ would ever fall for an ugly wretch like _me_!” She was crying so hard at that point, she hiccupped.

Cæna dared to reach over, setting his hands on her shoulders. She tried to push him away, but her effort was in vain; she ended up gripping his arms to keep herself upright. “Thora, it was all an act,” he quietly told her. “Vincent was literally _nothing_ but an informant to me.” He looked around the forest as he heard a distant whistle. “I’ll explain more when we get back, but we _need_ to leave right now.”

Thora was unable to say anything due to her mixture of sobs and hiccups.

Taking the knife from her tail, Cæna free her hands and tried to help her to her feet, but her knees buckled and she started to fall. As he caught her, he could hear the distant whistling once again. Cursing under his breath, he picked Thora up in his arms.

“Can ya grab the ax with your tail?” he asked her, his voice gentle but rushed. A sigh of relief left his mouth as she did as he asked. Making sure she wasn’t about to kill him with it, he started off in the direction of her home.

 

It took nearly an hour, but Cæna finally reached Thora’s home. During that time, Thora’s crying had quieted, but he grew worried when pained groans began leaving her mouth and she started shivering. He knew her throat had been cut, but he also knew that Vincent did cut her nearly deep enough to let her bleed out. He wouldn’t spoil a night of ‘fun’ with such a quick death.

Kicking on the door, he impatiently shifted his weight from side to side. A minute passed and no answer; he kicked again, harder this time. A voice called from somewhere within, but he couldn’t understand what was said.

“It’s Cæna!” he shouted, hoping one of her brothers could hear him. “Thora’s hurt and-”

The door was suddenly yanked open and Ulfr’s face appeared above him. His eyes were wide and there was a snarl on his scarred face.

“What happened!?” he cried, taking Thora from the human. “Who did this!?”

“Vincent,” he replied, following Ulfr inside. “We had a meeting tonight. I don’t know how she found us-”

Thora tiredly opened her eyes when she smelled the scent of home. “Ulfr…?” she murmured.

“Is alright, Little Sister,” he told her, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Are home. Are safe now.” With his tail, he shoved the contents of the table aside, laying her down in their place. He glanced up as Ormr rushed over and immediately began removing her cloak.

She looked up at Ulfr, blinking slowly. “Ulfr…Cæna…I found him…found him with a hunter…” Raising her hand, she weakly gripped the arm of his tunic. “He was…was telling them…” She fell quiet as he lightly pressed his fingers to her lips.

“Shh. Save strength,” Ulfr cooed. His face hardened when Ormr tilted her head back, revealing the three slices on her throat. The blood had stopped flowing and was long since dried, but a brownish-orange substance still shone with wetness against her skin. “What is that?”

“Dispelling poison,” Ormr replied, his tone grave.

Sindri rushed in, soaking wet with only a towel around his waist. “What happened?!” he demanded, eyes wide. “Cajsa just told—” He froze, seeing Thora laying on the table and Ormr beginning to tend to her bloodied neck. “Little…Little sister…” He came over, shakily reaching out and brushing some hair from his sister’s pale face.

“She will live,” Ormr assured them all. “Is in shock. Her magic, on other hand…”

Cæna frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Will have to wait, see,” Ormr sighed. Then, a reassuring smile came to his lips as he looked at the three males. “But, promise little sister will live. In fact, will be normal by morning. Wounds look worse than they are and she needs rest. I will clean her up and tend to her throat. No doubt, though, Cæna has explaining to do.”

Ulfr and Sindri both looked at Cæna, but his eyes were fixed on Thora. With a sigh, he finally pulled his gaze away and nodded. “I also have news about the veiðimenn. I know when they’re going to attack and it’s _soon_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chicken was on the menu tonight and, for once, it tasted like something Dagur would want to eat again.

Sitting on the slab of rock that he deemed his bed, he tore into a leg of chicken with vicious hunger; it had been many days since his last _proper_ meal. He glanced over at Logmar, who was leaning against the wall, a bored look on his face. The guard yawned, not bothering to cover his face; Dagur couldn’t really blame him. It had to be nearly midnight.

Or maybe it was noon?

It was hard to tell anymore.

“So, is there any news of the outside world I’m allowed to know?” he questioned, trying to make the silence less…awkward.

“There hasn’t been much,” Logmar told him, his eyes closed. “Trader Johann said somethin’ ‘bout war brewin’ on the mainland, but here in the archipelago, all’s been well.”

Dagur’s brow rose; war on the mainland? “What kind of war?”

Shrugging, Logmar scratched his beard. “Hard sayin’. The people over there seem t’ fight over the silliest things. Probably have three o’ those…whaddya call ‘ems? Pokes?”

“Popes,” another prisoner corrected. “Except, when there’s more ‘n one at the same time, they’re called Antipopes.”

“How do ya know that?” Logmar asked, opening an eye to look at the prisoner. He was a Berserker.

“Because me mum’s Roman an’ tried t’ raise me Christian,” he replied. He then snickered. “Didn’t work out too well, considerin’ me dad’s wife an’ me half-siblings were all devoted Norsemen.”

Dagur raised his brow. “I take it your mother was a slave, then?”

The man nodded. “She was, but me dad legitimized me upon his death an’ had me mum buried with him. Pissed off his wife, that did. Dad always fancied me mum more, though.”

Dagur remained silent at that; the situation reminded him quite a bit of his own family: His father had captured a Celtic woman on one of his raids only to father a child with her. Only, the woman had died in childbirth, leaving his sister to be raised by a wet nurse. He frowned at the memory; his mother had disliked his sister, but he remembered adoring her. …Until, that is, he accidentally sent her adrift one day on one of their father’s wooden shields.

Clenching his eyes shut, he tried to force the memory out of his mind, choosing to instead take a bite out of his meal. He opened his eyes again as he heard the sounds of Logmar moving. The guard was standing with straightened posture and a somewhat nervous expression was on his face as he stared straight ahead. Raising his brow, Dagur leaned forward and peered down the hall.

Alvin was coming down the passageway.

Taking another bite of his chicken, Dagur shrugged. He didn’t care; Alvin was known to come down and inspect the prisoners to make sure they weren’t dead, dying, or diseased. What he didn’t know, though, was that tonight was going to be… _different_.

“Ah, Dagur…I see your enjoyin’ the chicken I ‘ad cooked for ya,” said Alvin, his arms crossed over his chest. “Tell me: ‘Ow does it taste?”

Raising his brow, Dagur glanced up at him. “Like your people have finally learned how to properly season their food,” he retorted. He warily looked down at his meal, now wondering just _why_ Alvin was so keen on knowing how well he enjoyed it. He had already eaten half the chicken. “That, or they’ve learned how mask the flavor of poison quite nicely.”

At that, Alvin let out a hearty, but fake, laugh. “Poison? Now why in the world would I go an’ poison _you_ o’ all people?” he questioned. “After all, you’re a fellow chieftain. I _need_ t’ keep ya alive for political reasons.”

Tossing aside the half-eaten leg, Dagur gave him a dry look. “Then tell me, Alvin: If you don’t want me dead, then why _are_ you down here? Surely my wellbeing isn’t top on your list of priorities.” Yawning, he leaned back against the stone wall. He was beginning to feel tired and Alvin’s presence was boring him.

Alvin smirked, an almost impressed expression on his face. “Well, well! You’re not as dumb as ya look.”

Dagur glared at him, but said nothing. He yawned a second time.

“Ya see, me an’ some o’ my boys ‘ave made a bit o’ a wager,” he explained. He waited for Dagur to ask about the wager, but the question never came. Frowning, he continued. “The wager involves ‘ow quickly _you_ can navigate our wee lil’ labyrinth.”

Dagur’s brow remained lifted. “You have a labyrinth on this island?” he asked, his tone dry. He covered his mouth as he yawned again, his brows now furrowing; why was he suddenly so tired?

Alvin let out a real laugh this time. “O’ course we do! ‘Ow else do ya think I was able t’ ‘ide out safely an’ get information t’ ‘elp overthrow your traitorous arse?” He sneered at the younger chieftain. “O’ course, there’s a catch t’ all this.”

“There’s _always_ a catch,” he said, speaking through yet another yawn. His whole body was beginning to feel extremely heavy. He slowly blinked, trying to stay awake.

“Looks like that sleepin’ draft we marinated the chicken in is workin’,” Alvin mused, chuckling. He looked over at Logmar, who was busying himself by braiding a section of his beard.

Dagur frowned, glaring at Alvin with hatred and exhaustion. “I…I knew you did somethin’…to my chi…to my chick…” He slumped sideways, falling off his perch with a dull thud.

 

When Dagur woke up, there was a sharp pain in his head and a dull ache in his arms. He slowly blinked, trying to remember what had happened, but he was drawing a blank. Trying to push himself upright, he found that his arms had been bound behind him with shackles. He frowned, but eventually fought his way into a sitting position.

“I really need to work on my core muscles,” he mumbled before yawning.

Looking around, he found himself sitting in a narrow passageway, a single torch lighting the area. Some yards away, leaving an area of shadow between them, was another torch, and a another torch after that. At least there was light, he thought. Clenching his teeth, he struggled against the shackles for a few minutes, but he didn’t have the strength or leverage to break them.

‘So this must be the labyrinth that asshole was talking about,’ he thought, finally recollecting Alvin’s words. Struggling to his feet, he squinted in an attempt to see how far up the ceiling was, but it was no use -it was beyond the light of the torches. ‘I suppose I have no choice but to do this stupid thing. I could just sit here and wait, but who’s to say that they’ll try looking for me?’

Shrugging, he rolled his head and tried to roll his shoulders, feeling his bones and muscles creak. Unable to grab the torch to light his path, he started off into maze. As he walked, he glanced around for potential booby-traps or monsters that could be lurking in the shadows.

But there was nothing. Just torches, hallways, and silence. Deafening silence.

After what seemed like hours had passed, he found himself face-to-face with yet another dead end. ‘Alright, this is getting irritating,’ he thought. ‘I swear I’ve been down this path -but they all look the _same_.’

“How in Hel’s name am I supposed to tell these hallways apart!?” he growled. Out of sheer frustration, he thumped his head against the wall only to hiss in pain; the walls weren’t smooth and he had cut his cheek. Cursing, he pulled away from the wall, his nose scrunching up as a droplet of blood fell from his cheek, landing on the ground and glinting in the light of the torch.

Dagur’s brow rose and, slowly, a crazed grin spread across his face.

 

Alvin drummed his fingers against his arm, his eyes occasionally glancing over at the large hourglass sitting in the center of the area. It was nearly empty; just a few more minutes and they would be forced to flip it over for the fourth time and he would lose the bet. As the sands continued to trickle downwards, he glared at it, as if willing the sand to cease.

“Looks like you’re goin’ t’ owe me a full coin purse, Alvin,” snickered Snorri. “Just face it: The whelp’s lost down there. He ‘as nothin’ t’ mark his path, he had no way o’ knowin’ north from south-”

“Shut it,” Alvin growled, turning around to face Snorri with death on his face. He didn’t want to owe his second-in-command a purse full of gold, but he would stay true to his word should Dagur not appear. “’E’ll find ‘is way out. ‘E may be deranged, but ‘e’s cunning.”

“Why, thank you, Alvin. I do believe that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

Spinning around, Alvin opened his mouth to speak, but instead, he let out a noise that was a mixture of horror and disgust. There stood Dagur, the right half of his face bruised, beaten, and bloodied. He was leaning against the wall for support; he looked like he could barely hold himself up.

“You should really think about putting some signs down there,” Dagur said, the crazed grin coming to his face once more. “A guy can really lose his way down there!” He let out a laugh, though his strength finally began failing. Sliding down the wall to his knees, his laughter suddenly ceased and he glared up at Alvin. “I _will_ make you regret this.”

Alvin stared down at him for a moment, saying nothing. Then, turning his back on the Berserker, he waved dismissively. “Get ‘im back in ‘is cell an’ get ‘im a ‘ealer. An’ Snorri, I’d like my gold by dinner.”

 

* * *

 

 

Her fingers slowly caressing the beads around her neck, Thora stared into the heart of the fire. She ignored the meeting taking place around her, already knowing the battle plans by heart. Letting her eyes close, she inhaled through her nose and, for a moment, she could smell the strong mixture of cloves and cinnamon that was Dagur’s scent.

It was funny, she thought, how safe she had felt when in the presence of someone she hated so much and now, surrounded by people she loved, how helpless she felt.

Letting her eyes open once more, she glanced around at the group of people gathered at the rounded table. Ulfr stood, pointing at different parts of a map of Enda Fjarðarins as he spoke. Once in a while, another person -usually Jeltsje- would interrupt, asking about the placement of warriors or the defense of certain structures.

Thanks to Cæna’s spying, they knew where and when the hunters planned to attack, but he hadn’t been able to gather information about _how_ they planned to attack. As such, Ulfr had spent much of the past week preparing the warriors for every kind of assault imaginable. And, though he hated to admit it, he did have an advantage:

The hunters didn’t have a dragon with them, let alone a _tamed_ dragon.

“When signal is given, Little Sister Thora and Death Dance will fly out and light eastern pits aflame,” Ulfr told the others, using his tail to point to the map. “That should give enough light to reveal good portion their forces. Little Sister Thora and Death Dance will then fly to southern field, doing same.” He glanced over at his sister, who nodded, but said nothing.

He continued to speak, only giving Thora a quick glance as she quietly scooted away from the table before getting up. She knew the plan well enough by now; she wanted some fresh air. As she left, Ormr and Sindri both briefly rested their hands on her shoulder, making sure she was alright.

Outside, the air was cold and her breath hung in small clouds as it left her mouth. It was better than being in the mead hall with so many people, though. Walking down the steps, she glanced up at the sky, able to see thousands of stars. In the distance, though, dark clouds lingered, threatening to unleash the first snow of winter.

Leaving the hall behind her, she went down to the docks, where Death Dance was eating a bushel of fish. The dragon quietly clacked her jaws as her rider approached and affectionately nuzzled her before going back to eating. It had taken two days of work, but her bones had been covered in a mixture of soot and charcoal, blackening them to better camouflage her against the night sky.

“Eat up,” Thora quietly told her, patted the side of her leg. “You’re goin’ t’ need your strength.”

“So will you.”

Turning, she found Cæna walking towards her. Biting her tongue, she glanced away from him. “I did eat,” she replied. “Sindri made sure of it.” Despite now understanding that he had been tasked by Ulfr to spy on the hunters for Enda Fjarðarins, she still felt betrayed. Knowing that he had been _with_ another person while courting her, even if he didn’t have any feelings for them, hurt.

He stood beside her, but kept a respectful distance; he knew she was upset. “How’s your neck?”

“Sore. It still burns once in a while.” She let out a sigh and, after giving Death Dance another pat, turning to face Cæna.

“Ormr told me you’re lucky t’ be alive after that,” he quietly told her. “He said he thought you’d be fine at first, but when he realized that they use cumin in those poisons…”

She nodded, noticing that he kept his gaze towards the ground. “He’s a good healer,” she assured him. “The only lasting effect I’ll have from it will be on my magic.”

He glanced up at her for the briefest of seconds. “Will it ever come back?”

Looking down at her hand, she watched as an awfully dull blue light filled her palm. It went out shortly after appearing, but it still managed to bring a small smile to Thora’s face. “It’s tryin’.” Sighing, she looked out towards the ocean; the surf was rough, another hint at the coming storm. “A silly thing like a dispellin’ poison can’t stop me. I’m too stubborn.”

A soft laugh left Cæna’s mouth as he, too, looked out at the sea. “Stubborn? Maybe. I’d say you’re more determined than stubborn, though.” He let his fingers lightly brush against hers before he felt her fingers entwine with his. “I love you.” The words came out as a whisper.

“I know,” she replied, her voice just as soft.

“And I understand if you never forgive me.”

Another sigh left her mouth. “You were doin’ what Ulfr asked o’ ya.” She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the waves fill her ears. “It’s…It’s not your fault.”

“But it _is_ my fault,” he argued, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m the one who lied to you about why I was gone for a couple o’ weeks every few months.” His jaw started to shake, making his voice wobble. “I’m the one who lied to you about how I came to have bruises and scratches in strange places on my body.” Swallowing hard, he felt hot tears starting to roll down his warm cheeks. “I’m the one who lied to you. And because I lied, I hurt _you_. The woman I love more than anything in the nine realms.”

He would have said more, but Thora silenced him with a kiss. Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around her neck, holding himself against her. She pulled back somewhat, her hand resting on his cheek. Her thumb brushed away one of his tears as she kissed the tip of his nose.

“Aye, it hurts,” she admitted, her own voice shaking, “an’ it _will_ hurt for quite some time yet. But I know ya had no choice. Ya had a job t’ do, an’ ya did it, givin’ us a fightin’ chance in this battle.”

He moved his hand, resting it atop hers as he buried his face into her palm. “I don’t deserve you. I really don’t.”

Her free hand wrapped around his chest, pulling him even closer against her. She rested her chin atop his head, letting her eyes fall shut. “I think it’s the other way around,” she murmured, her thumb stroking his cheek. “I love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

Their embrace was short-lived. Not more than a minute later, soft, musical whistles filled the still night air. Thora’s eyes snapped open and she felt her jaw tense; Cæna turned, swallowing hard.

The hunters were here.

Cæna suddenly turned towards her again, grasping both her hands in his. “Promise me you’ll stay safe,” he said. “Promise me I’ll find you alive after this is all over.”

Though knowing it was not something either of them could guarantee, she nodded. “I promise,” she replied, managing a small smile, “but only if ya promise the same.”

He smiled as well. “I swear it.” Standing on his tiptoes, he stole a kiss from her lips before running off into the night.

A trembling sigh left her mouth as she closed her eyes. She and Death Dance were alone on the docks, but further into the city, she could hear the sound of armed men and women hurrying to their positions as orders were given out in loud whispers. She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out her ax and her shield -just in case she was forced into on-the-ground combat. Then, climbing atop Death Dance, she readied herself for the signal that was surely to come at any moment.

“Well, girl,” she whispered, patting Death Dance’s neck, “this is it. I’m sorry I don’t have anythin’ encouragin’ or witty t’ say like Hiccup does.”

The Boneknapper made her soft, purring noise, letting Thora know that it was alright.

All the lights in the city went out.

Without needing to be told, Death Dance spread her wings and took to the air. First, she flew to the north, keeping herself out of the crescent moon’s path. Once she was high enough, she turned eastwards and dove.

Thora couldn’t help but smirk as cries of fear and shouts of surprise filled the air as Death Dance light up the night with her fire. Glancing behind them, she could see the trenches filled with tar and whale oil quickly rising into flames. Death Dance rose upwards once more, circling around behind the southern borders before diving inwards from the west, lighting another set of trenches.

Letting out one of her thunderous roars, Death Dance banked and sped back across the field, her claws racking all who were in her path. Then, she climbed into the air once more and stayed up there, flying back and forth over the open field as she waited for her chance. Both sides exchanged barrage after barrage of arrows, making Thora cringe.

She had forgotten what it was like to hear the screams of pain and terror of dying men.

The trenches on the east carved a strange, maze-like path through the forest and, soon, the smell of burning pitch filled her nose. The hunters were not deterred by the fires, however -they continued coming, splitting up their ranks in order to avoid the trenches.

A strange twanging noise barely caught Thora’s attention. Looking over her shoulder, she cursed and was just barely able to get Death to flip upside down as a boulder flew over top. Death Dance righted herself, snorting in aggravation as a second boulder flew towards the city; this one was a few yards away.

“Want t’ take out some catapults, girl?” smirked Thora.

The Boneknapper’s answer came in the form of her turning around and diving. A low, dangerous growl left her throat and made her body vibrate as she raced downwards. When she came close enough, she opened her mouth, sending out a fiery blast. Seconds before impacting with the now flaming catapult, she shifted her wings and shot upwards, smashing the weapon with her tail.

Thora let out a cheer, raising her ax in the air triumphantly. “Let’s do it again, shall we?” she called.

Death Dance made a sort of laughing sound before diving yet again. This time, however, things did _not_ go according to plan, as she was forced to dodge and weave her way through flying boulders. Frustrated, she looped around and flew towards the city walls with the intention of turning and approaching the catapults from head on.

As they flew, Thora could see part of one of the southern walls was smashed in. So far, it was being well defended and a pile of dead or dying hunters was growing some yards away. Distracted by the damage, she failed to notice the shower of smaller rocks coming at her and Death Dance until it was too late.

A curse flying from her mouth, she raised her shield above her head, keeping herself from harm. But the force of the rocks hitting the shield sent her toppling sideways off of the dragon. The gods were somewhat on her side -she was only a few yards from the ground. She grunted, momentarily stunned by the impact.

“Little Sister!”

Pushing herself to her knees, she saw Ulfr and his men racing towards her from the wall. Glancing in the other direction, she saw the silhouettes of hunters running at her. Getting to her feet, she braced her shield in front of her, her ax at the ready.

“Gods grant me strength,” she said to herself, her eyes narrow, “and should that strength fail, grant me a place among my forebears in the halls o’ Valhalla.”

Everything seemed to happen at once. Ulfr and his men reached her just in time for the wall of hunters to crash into them. Thora let out an animalistic snarl at the man who collided with her shield before bringing her ax around and slamming it into his chest. She felt armor break and bones shatter under the blow. She shoved him aside and pushed forward.

Beside her, Ulfr was quickly amassing a trail of dead foes. Years of fighting had given him deadly accuracy with his blows, letting him make quick work of his enemies. Above them, Death Dance roared and swept through the ranks and once again breathed her fire.

Someone snatched Thora’s cloak, yanking her backwards. Grasping at her throat, she ripped the pin free of the cloth, keeping her from falling. She turned in time block a blow from a spiked mace, its owner grinning menacingly at her. They didn’t seem phased as Thora snarled at them; the sound that came out was more animal than human. Instead, they pulled their mace back and swung again.

Thora stepped aside, the mace just barely missing her. Reaching over with her tail, she grabbed the hunter’s outstretched wrist and tugged them forward as she raised her knee. Their face smashed against her leg and they stumbled forward onto the ground. She brought the ax down onto the back of their head.

She suddenly cried out in pain, stumbling sideways as something slammed into her arm and tore through her flesh. The impact made her drop her ax, but the adrenaline running through her veins kept her standing. Turning, she saw a woman sneering up at her, a chain flail in her hand. Her pale skin was covered in blue lines and her red hair shone like crimson in the firelight.

For a moment, Thora was reminded of Dagur.

Shaking her head, she snatched up her fallen ax with her tail. She stepped sideways as the woman swung the flail again, sending a spray of dirt into the air as it hit the ground. She yanked it back, using her own shield to block an attack from Thora. She shouted something that Thora didn’t understand, but she recognized the language: It was the same language Cæna had told her he grew up with.

Thora rolled her eyes and darted forward, slamming her shield into the woman. Her strength greater than the human’s, she sent the smaller woman tumbling to the ground. Raising her ax, she started to deliver the death blow-

A roar of pain came from Death Dance.

Her eyes widening and the blow faltering, Thora spun around, searching the skies for her dragon. The Boneknapper was nowhere above, but was instead on the ground nearly two hundred yards away. She breathed a blast of fire before spinning around, sending at least ten hunters flying with her tail. But she was limping.

“Ulfr! Death needs us!” she called out, unable to see her brother but hoping he could hear her through the chaos. “She’s hurt-”

She was cut off as the spiked end of the chain flail smashed into her arm yet again. This time, the blow was strong enough to knock her off her feet and fill the left side of her body with white-hot pain. She looked up, seeing the red-haired woman twirling the flail; Thora lifted her shield, cringing as the spikes bashed the shield, ripping splinters from its surface.

Again and again, the woman flung the flail. Again and again, Thora did her best to block. Soon, though, her shield had taken enough and with a final blow, it broke into pieces. The woman wore a wicked smirk as she twirled her flail and watched the half-troll scooting away from her. Her strong arm rendered useless and her vision already growing foggy, Thora knew what was coming.

 

She closed her eyes, ready to greet the Valkyries.


	21. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note before you read: There is a bit of mildly graphic imagery due to the ancient way of doing tattoos.

Laughter and the smell of burning cedar filled the air.

It was Snoggletog and Stock had invited the Bog-Burglars and Bashem Oiks to Berk to celebrate. Three giant bonfires had been erected along the beach and people gaily danced around them as drums, flutes, and lurs shook the earth with their songs.

Away from the dancing, there was a fourth bonfire, but this one was smaller and two entire boars were being roasted over the flames. Around this fire were many tables, each one piled high with food and drink. Traditional foods, such as smoked and cured fish, roast chicken, salted pork, stewed roots, and hearty pastries were easily found, but if one looked past the usual, they could find imported foods such as Cypriot Flaouna from Greece, candied figs, Roman wine, and a strange dish Trader Johann called baklava.

Of course, the dragons running around and playing together were a nice addition to the scene, even if the Terrible Terrors were being, at times, absolute terrors. Big-Boobied Bertha’s flock of Terrors found particular joy in harassing the chief of the Bashem Oiks by stealing whatever vegetables he pulled onto his plate. He knew it was all in good fun, however, and was thankful they didn’t try to steal his meat instead.

Hiccup had found himself unable to stop smiling. It was rare for everyone to be in such good spirits, let alone when other tribes were around. He wondered what was more to blame: The holiday, the free-flowing mead, or the recent marriage between Pála Hofferson and a Bashem Oik named Jorgen. Or, he thought, maybe it was a combination of all three that made things so good.

Either way, things were good.

Making his way through the crowd, he stopped when he reached the three bonfires. Not possessing enough skill nor the proper set of legs to dance, he stood there, watching as his friends held hands and danced in lines around the fires. Those women who were of age and unmarried wore loose, white gowns that floated around their ankles as they danced while their hair, unbraided, twirled about their shoulders. Some of the women wore crowns of holly while others jingled from dozens of bells decorating their persons.

His smile turned into a dreamy expression as his eyes fell on Astrid. This was the first year that she and Ruffnut were allowed to partake in the ritual Snoggletog dancing, though he admittedly paid little attention to Ruffnut -not that she would have cared; she was too busy making eyes with Kenna.

Astrid, however…thanks to years of battle training, she was light on her feet and her movements were graceful and fluid. The gauzy material of her dress swirled behind her as she twirled around and around, the bells on her ankles ringing lightly.

Hiccup hoped she would dance a few more years because, by gods, she was beautiful…

He was brought out of his reverie as someone lightly punched his arm. Blinking, he looked over only to see Gobber, a knowing expression on the blacksmith’s face.

“Evening, Gobber,” he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Having fun?”

“I daresay there isn’t a soul here tonight who _isn’t_ ,” he chuckled. In his usual Snoggletog manner, he had switched his helmet out for one with reindeer antlers and had decorated it with boughs of holly. “I see you’re enjoyin’ the view.”

Hiccup felt his cheeks flush as he looked back at the dancers. “It’s—It’s just nice to see everyone in such good spirits,” he partially lied. “Especially when other tribes are here. The last few years have been so chaotic, after all.”

Gobber nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced by Hiccup’s words. “True that!” he agreed. “I’m surprised you’re not out there dancin’, though.”

He shrugged. “Ah, I’m not really the dancing sort,” he said. “Especially when the ground is this uneven. The ol’ foot likes to get stuck.” He let out a small laugh as he motioned to his pegleg, which had become the latest victim of his modification sprees.

Raising half his brow, Gobber rolled his eyes before giving Hiccup a hearty shove forward. “Get out there, ya love-sick ninny!” he laughed. His grin grew larger when he saw Astrid hook her arm around Hiccup’s, pulling him into the dance. “Atta lad,” he murmured.

“Did you just shove my son into the dancin’ line?”

Gobber nodded, not needing to look to know that Stoick had come up beside him. “The lad needed a wee bit o’ coercion, but he seems happy with it now.” He took a drink from the mug attached to his stump.

Shaking his head, Stoick quietly laughed. “Let me guess: He tried t’ tell ya his leg was going to get stuck in the gravel?” He glanced over, seeing Gobber nod behind his mug. “He tried t’ use that excuse on me when I asked him ‘bout dancing earlier. _I_ said his leg would be just fine.”

“And it seems to be just that!” Gobber grinned. “Anyway, do ya really think I’d let him get away _without_ dancin’ this year? He’s the chieftain’s son! He’s got t’ set an example for the other teens his age!”

At that, a hearty laugh came from Stoick. “Funny -I don’t recall bein’ forced t’ dance when I came o’ age.”

Gobber shrugged. “Well, at the time, ya didn’t have yourself a girl you fancied either,” he retorted. “Nor were you as hesitant as Hiccup. For you, it was easy t’ throw yourself head-first into the lineup for dancin’ an’ share a round with almost all the women.” He used his mug to motion out at Hiccup. “For him, it’s different. He’s got his eye on a single lass an’ she on him. He _doesn’t_ want t’ dance with anyone _but_ her, even though he’ll have to. But it’ll be good for him.”

Stoick’s brow rose; he knew full well Gobber was right. “How is it that ya seem t’ notice more things about my son than I do?” he questioned with a sigh.

Again, he shrugged. “I’m a da’ myself, remember?” He let out a small sigh. “An’ without Thora here, I’ve found myself spendin’ more time with Hiccup, since he’s constantly in the forge tryin’ t’ come up with new tail gadgets for Toothless. Meanwhile, you’re out doin’ your chiefly duties.” He glanced over at Stoick, seeing an unpleasant look on the chieftain’s face. “What I’m really noticin’, though, is how much he’s started takin’ after you.”

At that, Stoick’s expression seemed to soften into confusion. “What?”

Nodding, Gobber finished off the drink in his mug. “Yep. That boy’s a natural-born leader, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. Though they give him headaches once in a while, those dragon riders are loyal t’ him and follow his orders - _mostly_ without question.” He let out a belch, patting his belly to force out a second, quieter belch. “He’s definitely your son, that’s for certain. Not terribly good with politics just yet, but when Thora comes back, I’m sure he’ll get his lessons in it soon enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Stoick laughed. “Or maybe I should pull him away from the forge once in a while an’ give him the lessons myself?” he chuckled. “Ah, he’s a good lad, though, an’ he’s got a good head on his shoulders. I’ve no doubts he’ll turn into a great chieftain someday.”

“He’s the son o’ Stoick the Vast! O’ course he will be!” Gobber laughed. His cheeks had grown quite rosy and he was beginning to wobble, letting Stoick know that he should, perhaps, cut off his friend’s alcohol access.

Patting him on the back, Stoick started to lead him away from the bonfires. “Let’s get ya some food, eh? Don’t want ya wobbling all over the place with the night so young.”

“Nah! I think I’m ready for another pint o’ mead-”

“Not until you’ve eaten some food! Ylva baked a whole slew of honey cakes for tonight an’ they’re goin’ fast. Don’t want you t’ miss out on those!”

“Oh, fine…”

* * *

 

 

It had been strange, waking up without a left arm.

Truthfully, Thora thought it was strange that she had woken up at all. Ulfr had told her it was because of Cæna that she survived the battle -but just barely. As the Celtic woman had been about to deliver the death blow, Cæna tackled her to the ground and stabbed her through the chest. He then brought Thora back inside the city walls, making sure she reached Ormr’s care before racing back out into the fray.

But that was the last anyone had seen of him.

As Thora lay in bed, healing, she pestered Sindri for news about him, but it was always the same answer: There was no sign of him, living or dead. When Ulfr recovered from his own injuries -including losing half his leg-, she asked him if he knew anything, but he only remembered seeing the human carting her off. Ormr assured her he hadn’t seen him since that night, either, and he had tended to every injured person in the city, whether they were hunter or not.

After a month passed, she stopped asking.

But she didn’t stop hoping.

 

* * *

 

 

Astrid took a bite out of a meat pie, her eyes scanning the horizon in front of her. Stormfly sat next to her, preening herself while her rider ate. With Hiccup feeling under the weather, she had been tasked by Stoick to survey the islands around Berk for an unusual activity.

Not that anyone expected there to be, but with it nearing time for the Bog-Burglars-in-training to take their thieving tests, Stoick didn’t want to risk being caught off guard.

“Can you imagine having to run off to different islands and steal things in order to become a part of a tribe?” she chuckled, leaning back on her hand. “It’s ridiculous if you ask me.”

Stormfly made a noise of agreement, though it was obvious she was paying more attention to cleaning her armpit.

“Though, I got to hand it to Bertha,” she continued, tossing the last bit of crust over her shoulder, “she does teach those women how to be sneaky. Maybe I could go over there for a few months and learn a few things?”

The Nadder turned, looking at her with a skeptical look in her eye.

“What? Think of how useful it’d be! You know how useful silence is, especially when it comes to infiltration missions.” She shrugged, wiping some crumbs from her shirt. “I don’t think I could stay away from Berk too long, though. _Someone_ needs to keep an eye on Hiccup and I really don’t trust the others to stand up to the task.”

Rolling her eyes, Stormfly tucked her head under her wing once more. _She_ knew that Hiccup was fully capable of taking care of himself.

Astrid got to her feet, stretching. “You stay here, girl,” she ordered the dragon. “I’ll be back in a little bit. I want to stretch my legs before we head off to the other island.”

A sound of acknowledgement came from the dragon, but she didn’t look at her rider.

Leaving the cliff behind her, Astrid headed off. The island wasn’t very big -only a quarter the size of Berk- but it was big enough to support a small flock of wild Deadly Nadders. Over the last couple of years, she had grown to be trusted by these Nadders and even friends with them. Today, however, they were nowhere in sight.

‘Probably out hunting or fishing,’ she thought, glancing around. Even though she knew she was the only human on the island, she kept herself on the alert. She didn’t want to be caught off guard by _anything_ or _anyone_. ‘With spring here, their fat stores are more than likely depleted, so they need to start eating again…’

Tucking some of her hair behind her ear, she froze as the grass in front of her moved a bit. Expecting a rabbit or wild chicken to come bounding out, she was taken by surprise when a snake came slithering towards her. Letting out a curse, she jumped back and went to grab for her ax only to realize her ax was with Stormfly.

Dragons she could handle. Snakes, though?

Snakes were her _worst_ enemy.

She swallowed hard, glaring down at the snake. Doing her best to stay calm, she kept her eye on it as she attempted to walk around it, but she had caught the snake’s attention. It looked up at her, flicking its forked, black tongue. Astrid didn’t like how big it was -nearly four feet long- but, judging by its bloated stomach, it had recently fed.

‘So it probably won’t try to bite me,’ she thought, slowly backing away. “Just go on your way,” she murmured aloud, hoping the snake could understand her.

The snake, however, continued to stare at her.

Biting her lip, she sprinted away. When she had gone at least ten yards, she glanced over her shoulder and found that the snake wasn’t following her. A sigh of relief left her mouth.

“Now that that creature is gone,” she murmured, brushing her bangs out of her face once more, “I can get back to my walk.”

But before she could take another step, she felt something slither over her boot. Slowly, she looked down.

“Get off me!” she cried, kicking another, smaller snake off her boot. She watched its legless body soar through the air before landing in the grass some feet away. Shuddering, she quickly walked away from the area, hoping she wouldn’t come across anymore snakes.

To her great disappointment, however, she kept running into them. It seemed everywhere she went, there would be another snake slithering its way through the grass. What didn’t help was that many of them were over two feet long.

After her seventh snake encounter, she gave up. She started running back towards Stormfly, unable to stand the thought of seeing another snake. She made sure to not look at the ground, even if it meant risking a fall should something try to trip her.

Out of breath and side aching, she reached her dragon. Stormfly was laying down, her tail curled around her body, but when she saw her somewhat-panicked rider, she sat upright. A sound of concern left her mouth as she lowered her head, worriedly nuzzling the teen.

“We are…leaving…” panted Astrid. She doubled over, holding her side. “After…After I get…my breath back…”

Stormfly nuzzled her once more before looking to the sky. Squinting against the sunlight, she saw a large, familiar dragon racing towards them.

“Hey, Astrid!” Hookfang and Snotlout landed a few yards away. “I’ve been lookin’ all over the archipelago for you!” He hopped off his dragon before grabbing something from Hookfang’s back. Keeping it hidden behind his own back, he started walking towards her.

She glanced up at him, a none-too-pleased look on her face. He was the _last_ person she wanted to see right then. “What…do you…want?” she wheezed.

“Me an’ Hookfang were just taking an afternoon walk around the village,” he began, a somewhat smug grin on his face, “when I happened to see _this_ -” From behind his back, he pulled out Astrid’s double-bearded ax, “-propped against Stormfly’s roost.”

Her brows furrowing in confusion, she looked between the ax and Stormfly. “What…? But I swear I thought I had it with me…”

Handing the weapon over, Snotlout shrugged. “I don’t know, but when I saw that it wasn’t with you, I thought I’d be a nice guy and bring it to you.”

Feeling a bit awkward thanks to her own forgetfulness, she took the ax from him. “Er…Well, thank you. That was actually surprisingly thoughtful of you.”

Grinning proudly, Snotlout waved dismissively. “Ah, I know how Berk’s number one warrior woman doesn’t like to go anywhere without her ax!” he laughed. Spotting some movement on the ground near her feet, he tilted his head.

“Call me that again, and I’ll use this ax to cut out your tongue,” she retorted, tone dry. Her brow rose when she saw him staring at the ground. “What? What’re you-”

Snotlout suddenly bent over, scooping something up in his hands. “Aww, aren’t you just the cutest?” he cooed. To Astrid’s horror, he was holding a foot-long snake in his hands. To her utter disgust, he was making baby faces and kissy noises at it. “You can’t be more than two years old, lil’ guy! Have you just come out of hibernation?”

“ _What_ are you doing?” she demanded, teeth clenched as she glared at them. She watched as Hookfang came over, inspecting the snake as well. He slowly breathed some hot air onto the smaller reptile, helping to warm its body.

“Just sharin’ my body heat with this lil’ fella,” Snotlout explain, his voice still babyish. “Snakes don’t like the cold, you know.” He quietly laughed as the snake crawled over his arm and around his shoulders.

“I don’t care what they do or don’t like. Just--For the love Odin, put that thing down! You don’t know where it’s been!”

He frowned, looking over at the blonde. “Uh…Judging by its leanness and the coolness of its body, it’s probably been in its underground burrow, hibernating until recently.” With utmost gentleness, he carried it away from the dragons and set it on the ground. “There you go. Go find the big mating party and get warmed up, alright? And get some lunch in your belly so you get nice and big! Field mice are good choice!”

Astrid shuddered. “I have no idea how you’re able to do that.”

“Do what?” he questioned. “Handle snakes? I used to catch ‘em all the time when I was a kid. I love them.” A reminiscing smile came to his lips. “Have you seen a snake’s face close up? It’s so cute! They’ve got these little noses and their mouths are shaped so that they’re always smiling…And their flicking tongues making it seem like they’re always blowing raspberries! But their bodies are stronger than you’d think! They’re basically a length of solid muscle and bone.” He patted Hookfang. “Like Hookfang, only smaller and not as handsome.”

She wasn’t convinced _or_ amused. “They’re creepy,” she told him, crossing her arms. “Something with no legs shouldn’t be able to move like they do, let alone as _fast_ as they do. Not to mention the fact that if a snake bites you, you’re as good as dead.”

He frowned, putting his hands on hips. “I’ll have you know there are _no_ venomous snakes in the Barbaric Archipelago,” he scolded, “and you should admire them for all they can do without legs! They’re pure _muscle_ Astrid! They’re like me, but _way_ more stealthy!”

“Well, you’re right on that account,” she muttered.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he continued, ignoring her quip, “there’s absolutely _no_ reason to fear snakes. They’re harmless! They eat mice, frogs, birds, and bugs - _sometimes_ the eggs of other snakes and birds, but that’s rare.” He shrugged. “They’re just like any other reptile, really.”

She let out a sarcastic laugh. “I _don’t_ fear snakes,” she snapped. “I find them disgusting, _not_ scary.”

“You called them creepy,” he said, brow raised. “When _you_ call things creepy, it means _you’re_ scared of them.”

“I am _not_ scared of snakes. They are disgusting, overgrown earthworms who sneak into your boots while you’re sleeping and who leave slime trails everywhere-”

“Alright, I’m going to stop you there, because I’m pretty sure you’re talking about _slugs_. Snakes don’t have slime. Frankly, I’m insulted you would even _think_ they’re slimy!” His tone betrayed how truly affronted he felt and there was a pout on his face.

“They work hard to keep their scales nice and shiny. Do you know how hard it is for a snake to shed its skin? A lot harder than it is for our dragons, that’s for sure.” He then paused, thinking over her words. “But, yes, they do have a fondness for boots and other recently-worn pieces of clothing due to their warmth. Snakes _love_ warmth; it’s why you find them sunning themselves on rocks during the summer and why they hibernate during the winter.”

Astrid stared at him, incredulous; she hated to admit it, but she was rather amazed by how much he knew about snakes. “You sounded _exactly_ like a mixture of Fishlegs and Hiccup,” she told him.

He rolled his eyes, moving to mount Hookfang. “Please. Those two know _nothing_ about snakes and their awesomeness,” he scolded. “Oh, and don’t worry.” His entire demeanor changed as he gave her a ‘handsome’ wink. “I won’t tell them about your fear of snakes.” Taking to the air, he and Hookfang left Astrid behind, grinning as they heard her yelling after them.

Rolling her eyes, Astrid moved to strap her ax to Stormfly’s harness. “Ugh. I’ll feed him to the eels if he even _thinks_ about bringing this up,” she mumbled. A bit of movement at the edge of her vision caught her attention.

Yet another snake.

Watching it make its way through the grass, she swallowed hard. But, she noticed that its scales did, indeed, look shiny rather than slimy. And, thanks to Snotlout mentioning it, she couldn’t help but imagine the snake constantly blowing raspberries as it flicked its tongue. In fact, the thought even made her chuckle.

She didn’t dare go over and pick it up, but she did smile.

Maybe snakes _weren’t_ as scary as she thought…?

 

* * *

 

 

“How bad is the pain?”

“Not bad, actually.”

“Good. Was worried you would be in more pain than with arms and thighs.”

“Ahh…well, don’t worry too much. It’s not bad.” Thora lifted her head, watching as Aphrodisios, Kelda’s satyr husband, dipped a strange, needle-tipped stick into a small bowl of ink. “I imagine it’ll hurt a bit more once ya get more towards the collarbone.”

He nodded in agreement before using his thumb and forefinger to hold the skin of her breast taut. “True. Less meat, more bone there,” he told her, making quick work of repeatedly stabbing the needles into her skin.

Letting her head rest on the pillow once more, she let out a sigh. Unlike her previous tattoos, this one had been Ulfr’s idea. He had suggested that she get a dragon over her heart to represent her fierceness in battle; Sindri, on the other hand, said that she should get the dragon because she was strong like one. Even though she didn’t entirely agree with either of their reasoning, she found herself laying on the floor and getting tattooed anyway.

“How has arm—ah, shoulder, I mean—been?” he asked.

“It’s healed up rather nicely, though I’ll always have a nasty scar t’ show off. Ormr feels bad about it, but I told him not t’ worry.”

“Why does he feel bad?”

“If we hadn’t been in a warzone, he said he would have rather left a flap o’ skin an’ neatly sewn the wound shut after he removed the arm.” She tilted her head back and scratched her chin. “Instead, though, he had t’ chop an’ burn before hurrying t’ the next patient.”

Aphrodisios nodded in understanding, though he wore a grim expression. “Understandable. But, eh, gives good story to tell in future!” Dipping his stick into the ink again, he went back to pricking her skin.

Thora winced ever so slightly; he was getting further away from the fatty section of her breast. “Only if ya don’t mind hearin’ ‘bout only half o’ a battle.” She winced again before clenching her eyes shut.

Frowning, Aphrodisios sat upright. “Need Kelda to make some tea?” he questioned. “Am going to be on that part of chest for a while.”

She cracked open an eye and looked up at him. “How long is ‘a while’?”

“Ten minutes or so.”

“…Aye, I’ll take some tea.” Sitting up, she looked down at the work he had done so far. “It’s lookin’ real nice, though! You’re puttin’ a lot more detail into it than I expected.”

Setting aside his bowl of ink and his piercing tool, the satyr stood up. “I want to make sure it looks like dragon,” he chuckled, offering her a sheet to cover herself with. “Will return with tea in few minutes. Would like anything else?”

“The tea should be good enough, thanks.” Wrapping the sheet around her, she let out a small sigh before shifting her positioning so that she leaned her back against the wall.

She felt a bit awkward, as the room they were tattooing in was Kelda and Aphrodisios’ bedroom. Before, when Vigdís was still an infant, Aphrodisios had tattooed her in the main room. But now. the bedroom was the only place where Vigdís, who adored both her father and Thora, couldn’t bother them.

Again, she looked down at the handiwork of Aphrodisios. Even though he came from Greece, he had easily picked up on the stylings of Norse artwork and it showed in his work. The dragon he was doing for her was deep red in color -only a few shades lighter than her skin- and was made up of many intertwining lines. She lightly ran a finger over one of the lines, but bit her tongue and pulled her finger away.

‘Should have expected it to be tender,’ she thought, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. She breathed in deeply through her nose, inhaling the incense the incense Aphrodisios had burning, only to exhale a sigh. ‘I don’t think dad is going to approve of all these tattoos…but who said he had to know about _all_ of them?’ A mischievous grin came to her lips. ‘Unless I wear my troll clothing, no one will see any of them except the one on my arm. Well, Cæna might—’

She sighed again, bringing her knees up to her chest. It had been three months since the battle and, while most people had been convinced that Cæna had been amongst the burnt bodies found in the remnants of the forest, she still couldn’t bring herself to accept that he was dead. Something in her gut told her that he was still out there -where and why, she didn’t know.

Her hand slid to her neck, where a new necklace now hung along with the one from Dagur. It was much simpler, as it was just a leather cord with a ring hanging from its center. The ring, too, was simple -a gold band with a single amethyst in its center. A sad smile came to her face as she looked down at the ring. Trader Johann had given it to her after she delivered the news about Cæna.

The ring, he said, was supposed to be an engagement ring from Cæna.

Hearing the gentle tapping of Aphrodisios’ hooves on the stone floor, she let go of the necklace. As the satyr came into the room with a mug of tea and a plate of cream cakes, she chuckled.

“I take it Kelda wouldn’t let ya come back without a snack?” she questioned.

“You know Kelda,” he smiled, holding the mug out to her. “Always must make sure people are eating!”

Taking a sip of the tea, Thora scrunched her nose up somewhat; she knew it wasn’t going to be the best tasting of drinks, but that did little to actually prepare her for the taste. “An’, I imagine, she knew I’d need somethin’ t’ get this taste out o’ my mouth.”

He gave her an apologetic look as he sat down. “That, too. But, should help with pain.”

“Aye. It did last time, anyway.” She took another drink and guessed that her disgust was all too apparent, because Aphrodisios was doing his best to not laugh.

“So, how is Ulfr’s leg?” he questioned, distracting himself with a cream cake. “Has gotten fake leg yet?”

She shook her head, setting the mug down. “Not yet, no. But Jeltsje is workin’ on one for him. He’s hobblin’ around rather well with his crutches, though.” As he offered her the plate of cakes, she took one. “Last night, though, he forgot he was missin’ half his leg and tried to walk. Ended up kissin’ the floor.”

Aphrodisios cringed at the thought. “Ugh. That not good.”

“It’s kind o’ weird, actually,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it _feels_ like we still have limbs. Like, there will be times when I swear I still have my arm and try t’ reach for somethin’ when I’m workin’. Ulfr says his is mostly pain in his foot -the foot he doesn’t have anymore.” She took a bite out of the cream cake, chewing and swallowing the bite before continuing. “I get pain, too, but it mostly just feels like my arm’s still there.”

“Interesting…wonder if it because had limb for whole life and both were unconscious when lost the limb?” he wondered aloud. “Body didn’t know what happened, so it is still getting used to the missing limb.”

Wiping her mouth on her wrist, she shrugged. “I couldn’t tell ya. But I can tell ya that it’s quite frustratin’ layin’ on your side in bed an’ ya want to roll over, but since ya don’t have an arm, ya just kind o’ wriggle like a worm.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds like what happens when own arm falls asleep at night. You know, how it won’t want to move?”

She nodded, smiling. “Aye, that’s actually what Ulfr likened it to! The odd pins an’ needles feelin’ all throughout his leg, only more painful.” Finishing her cream cake, she brushed the crumbs from her chest. Then, picking up her tea once more, she drained the rest of its contents.

“Ugh. Am glad still have all my limbs. Would _not_ enjoy having that feeling. Is bad enough when wake up with sleeping limb.”

Thora let out a small laugh, shifting her position so that she was laying down once more. “I’m sure the feelin’ will stop after a while. For now, Ulfr an’ I will just have t’ put up with it.”

“Is there no way Ormr can be of help?”

She shook her head, tucking her hand under the pillow. “Can’t help what’s not there.”

“Makes sense.” Taking up his tool, he dipped it into the ink and stretched her skin. “Ready then?”

“Aye. At least this time, I’ll _know_ the pain is real.”

 

* * *

 

 

Gobber hummed quietly to himself as he hammered away at a piece of yellow-hot metal. He wasn’t sure what he was going to shape it into yet; the metal hadn’t told him what it wanted to be. As he continued to flatten it out, it seemed the cooling brick of iron wanted to be on the longer side, but its base wanted to remain thick.

“Ahh…so ya want t’ be a spearhead, eh?” he chuckled to himself. Taking the now-cooled metal back to the forge, he shoved it into the hot coals. “I’ll let ya be one then. Guess that means I should get started on shapin’ some wood for your shaft…”

Going into the actual shop, he started rummaging around in a pile of logs and planks of wood. His nose scrunched up as he sorted through it all only to realize most of the wood he had acquired over the last three years was, well… _crap_.

‘This is what I get for letting Thora run off to the mainland,’ he thought with a sigh. ‘She always kept this part of the smithy organized and well-stocked. I’ve been so busy with dragons and leatherworking that I haven’t paid any attention to my wood supply…’

Eventually, he did manage to find a suitable piece of wood for a spear shaft, though it was somewhat on the shorter side. Ducking, he stepped out of the storage room only to stop in his tracks.

Snotlout was standing next to his anvil, looking over his shaping hammer.

Half his brow rising, he glanced outside; there was Hookfang, curled up in a large ball as he peacefully napped and his saddle was completely intact. Spitelout, Snotlout’s annoyance of a father, was nowhere in sight. Neither Stoick nor Hiccup were in sight, either, leaving Gobber quite confused as to why Snotlout was here.

“Er…Afternoon, laddie,” he spoke, drawing Snotlout’s attention. “What brings ya here?” Going over to the anvil, he plucked the hammer from the teen’s hands, afraid he may manage to break it.

“Oh, uh…” Snotlout rubbed the back of his head. “I was, ah…actually wondering if you needed any sort of help?” He didn’t meet Gobber’s gaze, letting the smith know that something was up.

Stirring the coals with his tongs, he glanced over his shoulder. “An’ just how did ya come t’ suddenly have an interest in blacksmithin’?” he inquired. “Did your da’ put you up to it?”

Quickly shaking his head, Snotlout somewhat frowned. “No! My dad has nothin’ to do with this. I just…ah…” He sighed; Gobber noticed how different he acted when there weren’t other teenagers around to ‘impress’. “I’m getting tired of going to the same islands over and over again with other riders. We _never_ find anything new. But, I get this weird feeling in my stomach if I _don’t_ go without having a reason.”

“Ya mean ya feel a bit guilty?” Again, using his tongs, he pulled the reheated iron out of the coals and carried it over to the anvil. Snotlout instinctively backed away.

“I wouldn’t _necessarily_ use the word ‘guilty’, but I guess that fits.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away as he hooked his thumb in his belt. “So, uh…yeah. I thought if I found something to do, I wouldn’t feel so ‘guilty’ about not going with them.” He watched as Gobber began hammering the metal again, able to see that the smith was seriously contemplating his words. “I’ll, ah, be on my best behavior,” he called over the ringing, “and I’ll work hard! I promise!”

After a few minutes, Gobber ceased hammering and once more tossed the metal into the coals of the forge. “How ‘bout this,” he began, resting his hand on a work bench and his tongs on his hip, “I’ll give ya a test. If ya pass the test, then I’ll let ya help me out. Sound good, lad?”

Snotlout nodded eagerly. “Alright! I’m game!” he grinned. “What’s the test? Is it making my first sword? Or maybe sharpening all the weapons you’ve already made? Oh, I know! Measuring a dragon for a new saddle!”

Gobber almost felt bad for dashing the lad’s enthusiasm. “Ya see that piece o’ wood over there in the corner?” he questioned.

“Yeah?”

“I need _that_ turned into a spear shaft.”

His brows furrowing, Snotlout glanced up at him. “You want me…to carve that into a spear?”

Nodding, Gobber walked across the smithy and tapped a wooden box full of tools. “Just the shaft,” he told him. “In here, you’ll find all the tools you’ll need. Now, they shouldn’t need sharpenin’, but if ya find any o’ them t’ be a bit dull, let me know. I’ll show ya how t’ file ‘em properly.”

Snotlout frowned somewhat as he went over to the piece of wood. It was already round, but much too thick, and there were pieces of bark left on it in places. He glanced over at Gobber, seeing no hint of amusement in the smith’s face.

“Quick question,” he said. “How long should this take me, about?”

Gobber shrugged. “Thora used t’ do it. She got it down t’ an hour, two hours at the most. But I’m not goin’ t’ hold ya t’ that. She grew up here, after all. You’re startin’ fresh. It wouldn’t be fair t’ compare the two o’ ya.”

Rubbing the back of his neck again, Snotlout nodded. “I _guess_ that makes sense,” he murmured. He then put on a determined face, placing his hands on his hips. “Alright, so…I guess I’ll get started then! By the time I’m done carving this spear, I’ll have you wondering why you didn’t have me as an assistant all this time!”

Laughing, Gobber patted Snotlout atop the helmet with his tongs. “We’ll see about that, laddie. Try not t’ cut yourself. It’s bad luck if the first blood spilled on a weapon isn’t from battle.”

“Yes, sir!” Grabbing the box of wood carving tools, Snotlout went to the corner of the shop and started working.

For the most part, Gobber kept his back to the lad, since it was the side of the anvil he preferred to be on. He was more than a little surprised to hear no sound of complaint come from the lad, but outside, Hookfang had crawled quite a number of yards away for his nap. Gobber didn’t blame him -the hammering of metal was a loud chore and dragons didn’t like loud noises.

Occasionally, he would glance over at Snotlout, finding the pile of wood shavings around his feet growing larger while the would-be spear shaft grew narrower and narrower. From what he could see, Snotlout was also managing to keep it an even thickness -something even _he_ still had problems doing, and he had been at this twice as long as Snotlout was old!

By the time he had finished roughing the shape of the spearhead, it was well into the afternoon and his stomach was demanding some sort of food. Twisting his tongs out of his stump, he replaced them with his usual hook before going to check on Snotlout.

“Hey, lad, how’re you doing?” he questioned.

Snotlout turned around, his front covered in wood shavings, his brow covered in sweat, and his hands a bit red from the unusual work he had been doing. “Does it look alright?” he questioned, holding the shaft up for Gobber to inspect. As Gobber took it, he set a strange, curved knife down in the box of tools. “Since the spear is shorter than normal, I kept the bottom a bit thicker to help even out the balance. I know you’ll probably still stick a butt cap on it, but those don’t tend to add too much weight…”

Gobber looked it over, finding himself more than a little surprised at how impressed he was. Thanks to Snotlout making the butt end wider, it _would_ be better balanced once he added the spearhead to it. He had also made markings for where leather or wire wrappings should go, if Gobber chose to decorate it at all. The only thing Gobber could see wrong with it was that it needed a bit of smoothing down.

Handing it back to Snotlout, he shrugged. “Got t’ admit, I wasn’t expectin’ much from you, lad,” he told him, “but you’ve put me in my place. It just needs a wee bit o’ smoothin’ out and it’s good t’ go.”

Snotlout’s eyes widened and grinned. “Really?! So I did good?”

Gobber nodded. “Aye, ya did,” he chuckled. He knew full well that the lad was constantly trying to impress the adults of the village -especially his dad- but usually he only succeeded in annoying them. This time, however, he had truly impressed Gobber. “I’m goin’ t’ go get a snack from Egil. Ya want somethin’?”

“Ooh, I’d love one of his goat cheese smeared flatbreads,” Snotlout replied, still wearing his grin.

Nodding in understanding, Gobber made to leave the shop. “While I’m gone, sweep up your mess. Go ahead an’ toss the shavings into the forge, but try not t’ get too much dirt in there, alright?”

“Yes, sir!”

He shook his head, hearing the lad laughing victoriously to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Her hand felt cool, bringing a small smile to her lips. Keeping her eyes shut, however, she focused on trying to draw as much magic from the earth as possible. It was a hard task thanks to the dispelling poison running through her veins, but she was able to slowly draw out enough to do the task at hand. Opening her eyes, she directed the magic through her body, feeling its coolness travel up her spine, around her throat, down her arm, into her fingers, and finally into the wooden box before her.

Engulfed in the pale, blue light, the box began to twist and warp itself. It didn’t get much bigger, though it did get taller and rounder. After a minute, it had settled itself into an egg shape with a flat bottom.

Thora grinned.

“Good job!” Sindri chirped, heartily patting her on the back. Plucking up the box, he looked it over, his eyes wide in enthusiasm. “Yes, did good job, Little Sister Thora! Look, Ormr! Ulfr!” He held the box out to their brothers, still wearing the proud smile.

“We see,” Ormr chuckled. He continued grinding cardamom pods in his mortar. “Little Sister Thora has been working hard at getting magic back.”

Feeling her cheeks darken at the praise, Thora took the box back from Sindri. “It’s hard, though,” she told them. “Tryin’ t’ draw the magic out is… _different_ now.”

Ulfr frowned, his brow rising. “Different? How?”

She lightly shrugged, setting the box down in favor of picking up a mug of spiced cider. “Before, it came t’ me like water from a cup.” She took a drink of the cider before setting her mug back on the table. “Now, though, it feels like I’m havin’ t’ force it out o’ the earth. Like…like tryin’ t’ pull a net full o’ fish out o’ the ocean. It’s difficult an’ almost doesn’t want t’ come. Once I do draw it out, though, it behaves.”

At that, Ormr frowned, setting his pestle down. “That is odd,” he told her, “but to be expected thanks to dispelling poison. Wish I could tell you how long it will last, but…” He let out a sigh and grabbed a nearby jar. “But, being that are able to even draw _that_ much magic from earth now is sign of improvement.”

“Doesn’t feel like much,” she admitted, twisting the box around and looking it over. “I’m basically back t’ where I was when I first arrived.”

“Not true at all!” Sindri lightly scolded. “When arrived, you knew very little of magic or how to work it. But now, you _know_ plenty and how it works. Because of poison, are having to work around eh…not disability…”

“Obstacle,” Ulfr told him. “The poison is an obstacle she must -and _will-_ overcome with time.” He reached over, picking up his own mug -his, however, contained mead- before taking a long drink. “She is improving faster than we thought she would, so that is proof she will overcome this.”

Again, Thora felt her cheeks grow warm; it wasn’t often that Ulfr complimented _anyone_. Picking up her mug again, she made to take another drink of her cider only to realize that it was empty. She pouted and slid out of her chair. As she crossed the room to get more, she ducked under Ulfr’s tail as he teasingly swatted at her.

“Nice try,” she chuckled.

“Do not know what you’re talking about,” he replied, only a hint of a smile on his lips. “Should probably take break. You have been practicing for many hours and could use rest.”

She nodded in agreement as she ladled the hot cider into her mug, her tail holding the mug for her. “I think I’ll go lay down for a while,” she told her brothers. “If I fall asleep, you’ll wake me for dinner, aye?”

“Of course,” replied Ormr. “Rest well, little sister.”

Thora smiled as she walked down the hall to her room. Even though it was a short distance from the main room, she passed by a handful of servants, their arms laden with clean, but wet, laundry. With it being one of the rare, _sunny_ days of early spring, she knew they wanted to take advantage of it while they could.

Once she was in her room, she set her cider down on her stepstool-bedside table. Then, going to her window, she opened the shutters, finding Death Dance asleep outside. She smiled; the Boneknapper had taken off for a few days the previous week only to return with all new bones. Where she found them, Thora had no idea.

She then went to a row of shelves Sindri had built for her. From one of the lowest shelves, she picked up a small, leather bag -her rune stones. Climbing onto her bed, she pulled the covers over her lap before closing her eyes and giving the bag a shake. As she shook it, she mentally tugged at a sliver of magic, pulling it from the earth.

“How is Berk doing?” she whispered as she felt the magic travel along her body and into the bag.

Opening the bag, she drew out five runes and laid them in a line before her: Tiwaz, mannaz, wunjo, hagalaz, and dagaz. Distant past, recent past, present, near future, and distant future. They were all carved into different colors of gemstones; a gift from Sindri shortly after she arrived.

‘I know how Berk’s gone through a time of personal growth,’ she thought, merely glancing at tiwaz and mannaz. ‘That would be the whole dragon escapade. Wunjo says that currently, everything is fine at home. That’s good. It’s been wunjo the last three times I casted…But I don’t like hagalaz…’

Picking up the stone, she turned it over in her hand, letting her thumb feel the line carved into the gem. An ill feeling came to the pit of her stomach the longer she held it, so she finally set it back down.

‘Halagaz means that big trouble is coming soon…What kind of trouble, though? Dagaz doesn’t give me much to go off of -just that a new time will arise. But that could be anything!’

Frowning, she scooped up the stones and poured them back into the back. Shaking it again, she did her best to bring more magic from the earth. This time, though, it struggled against her. She fought with it for a minute or two before she was able to pull it free.

‘What sort of trouble is coming to Berk?’ she thought, feeling the magic once more enter the bag. This time, she drew three stones and laid them before her: Inguz, nauthiz, and thurisaz. Importance of the past, a key point happening in the present, and a critical event in the future.

“The trouble starts with the peace that’s been brought to Berk,” she murmured, frowning. “But’s it’s because o’ someone’s stubbornness towards an obstacle in their life that things get rollin’. An’ it’s goin’ t’ result in someone or some people needin’ t’ control themselves in order t’ prevent things from gettin’ worse.”

Sighing, she leaned back and ran her hand through her hair. “They’re Hairy Hooligans,” she muttered. “They’re _all_ stubborn…” Shaking her head, she scooped up the stones and put them back in the bag. Setting the bag on her stepstool-bedside table, she instead picked up her cider.

‘If trouble is coming to Berk,’ she thought, pulling her knees to her chest, ‘then I need to go back.’ Taking a sip of her cider, she sighed and closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the headboard. ‘It’s been almost three years since I left home. I suppose it’s time I should go back, anyway…’

Guilt and sadness joined the ill feeling in her stomach. Biting her tongue, she cocked her head ever so slightly, able to just barely hear her brothers talking in the main room. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their voices were distinct enough that she knew _who_ was talking.

‘I…I almost _don’t_ want to go back to Berk,’ she found herself thinking. ‘I know I _need_ to go back, but…it almost feels like I _belong_ here.’ She swallowed hard, feeling tears filling her eyes and her throat grow tight from a withheld sob. ‘No one gives me nasty looks, no one calls me mean names -Odin’s beard, no one even bats an eyelash at me!’

Her tail wrapping around the mug, she moved her hand to her neck. Her fingers ran over both necklaces and she started to feel a bit calmer. The tightness in her throat eased up, but she allowed the tears to spill. She wondered, for a moment, if either Cæna’s ring or Dagur’s necklace had, at one point, been enchanted because of how quickly they seemed to bring a sense of tranquility to her mind.

‘Berk is my home,’ she thought with a sigh, ‘and it always will be. But Enda Fjarðarins is also my home. I’ve come to love my brothers dearly, but I need to see my family on Berk, too. And who says I can’t come visit, or vice-versa?’

Taking another sip of the cider, she looked out the window. Death Dance was still asleep, having rolled onto her back by now. Lines of drying laundry could be seen wafting in the gentle breeze; the sky was bright blue and cloudless as far as the eye could see.

‘I’ll tell my brothers tonight what the casting said at dinner. Maybe Sindri can do a casting as well to see if he gets a similar result. Either way, though, I think it’ll be safe if I leave around autumn…Castings like that usually see six months into the future. Yeah…That sounds like a plan.’

Setting her mug aside, she scooted down in her bed and snuggled up under the mixture of blankets and furs. She closed her eyes and buried her head in one of her many pillows, not bothering to hide a yawn.

‘I’m going to really miss this place…’

 

* * *

 

 

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Smear. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Smear.

Slowly, line by line, rune by rune, Dagur carved a list of names into his arm. He used a chunk of flint to do the cutting; the sharpness of the rock made it a surprisingly easy task. When he had the name carved into his arm, he then rubbed a mixture of ash and wine over the cuts, forcing the color into his skin.

It was a slow, painful process and it had nowhere near as much honor or glory as his first set of tattoos. The blue slashes across his other arm and eye were a sign of reaching adulthood but these…these were different. He had unfinished business with these people -both good and bad.

Dagur closed his eyes for a moment as he finished one of the names -Astrid. His left arm burned from the markings, but he wouldn’t give in to the pain. The rest of his body was tense and covered in a fine sheen of sweat; his right hand shook from holding the flint for so long. Slowly, he stretched out his fingers and gathered up some of the ash-wine mixture. He rubbed it into the bleeding wound, ignoring the stinging brought on by the wine.

“You’re goin’ t’ give yourself an infection if ya keep doin’ that.” He didn’t need to look over to know it was Logmar who was speaking. After three years -had it already been three years? How time flies…- he had grown used to the jailer’s voice. “From the looks o’ it, you’ve already got one brewin’…”

“The wine will keep it away,” he replied, stretching out his hand a bit more. It had stopped shaking, but he still felt tense. He glanced over, wanting to see what would be on the menu tonight. A whole, roasted chicken. His brow rose and he looked away; he didn’t trust it. “Roast chicken, huh? Don’t suppose it comes with a sleeping draft sauce, hmm?” He began working on the next name.

“Not this time.” He dropped a wineskin through the bars, letting it land with a ‘plop’ beside the chicken. “It’s just plain, roasted chicken with salt, pepper, rosemary, butter, an’ tarragon.”

His brow remaining raised, Dagur chuckled. “Getting fancy, I see. Tarragon is a pricey herb. Why waste it on a wretch like me?”

“Because tarragon goes well with chicken.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Logmar leaned against the wall. “An’ it’s not so pricey. I’ve got a whole garden full o’ the stuff.”

At that, Dagur paused in his work and looked at the jailer, confused. “You…have a _garden_?” he questioned. “There aren’t _gardens_ on this island. It’s all rock!”

Logmar wore a cocky grin. “I went an’ brought in a couple o’ boatful’s o’ dirt an’ made myself a nice lil’ herb garden,” he replied. “Miss Thora gave me the idea when she was here, since we don’t -well, _didn’t-_ have the best medicine supply. Now, though…”

Rolling his eyes, Dagur went back to finishing the ‘G’ in Fishlegs. “I was wondering how you managed to make that sleeping draft since Trader Johann doesn’t sell them. Guess I now know.” Filling the cuts with the ash-wine mixture once more, he set his flint down and slid from his perch. He still had two names left, but his stomach was demanding food. Maybe it would help stop his shaking, too?

Picking up the plate, he leaned his back against the bars of his cell. “So, tell me Logmar: Anything new in the wide, open world? Or are things still as _boring_ as ever?”

Logmar shrugged, watching as Dagur ripped a leg from the chicken and started to eat. “There isn’t much t’ tell. The other tribes are startin’ t’ train dragons, though they’ve not been too successful yet.”

“You’ve mentioned that before.” He ripped a large bite out of the chicken leg -Logmar was right: Tarragon _was_ good with chicken. “Whatever became of that war on the mainland? Do you know?”

“Oh. That.” He shifted his weight to his other leg before covering his mouth as he yawned. “It happened. Trader Johann told us ‘bout it. Happened in a place up north, in a place called Elden Fjartrins or somethin’. Bunch o’ non-humans fighting against bunch o’ humans who wanted ‘em dead. Apparently, Johann’s nephew perished fightin’ for-”

Dagur stopped eating and looked at Logmar with wide eyes, but furrowed brows. “What do you mean, ‘non-humans’?”

He shrugged. “Ya know -Trolls, elves, dwarves, huldra. Them sorts.”

For a moment, Dagur thought back to Thora. She had told him she was going to the mainland to study under her brothers. Now knowing that she had been playing him, he had thought she was lying about her brothers. But at the mention of a city of non-human--

“Do you know who ruled over the place?” he demanded.

Logmar scratched his beard. “Not by name, no -but I do know three big ol’ trolls rule over it.” He then cocked a brow and warily eyed Dagur. “Why? What’re ya findin’ so interestin’ that ya have t’ know more ‘bout that place?”

“Because, _dear_ Logmar,” he dropped the plate of chicken and turned around, reaching through the bars and grabbing the neck of Logmar’s tunic, “our little _Miss_ Thora went to study magic on the mainland under her _three. Troll. Brothers_.” A dark look came to his face as he snarled at the Outcast; he didn’t care that Logmar was struggling against him. “And if little Miss Thora partook in that battle and _died_ , then that means I won’t be able to get my _revenge_ on her!”

“I heard n-nothin’ ‘bout them or any o’ their f-family dyin’!” he stammered. His fear was all too evident on his face. For having been locked up for so long, Dagur was _strong_. “T-Trader Johann only said one o’ the b-brothers lost a leg an’ that his own nephew died! N-nothin’ else, I p-promise!”

Dagur gave a shove as he released the jailer. “Good. _Good_. That means there’s still a chance I’ll see her again. And when I do…” His shoulders started to shake as he began laughing.

As his laughter turned into loud, wicked cackling -loud enough to disturb the other prisoners from their deep slumbers- Logmar turn and ran.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are…are sure don’t want to wait until spring? There will be more sunlight to travel by then! And better weather!”

“Read the stones, Little Brother. She cannot wait until spring.”

“I know…” Sindri sniffled, wearing a small pout as he watched Thora tighten Death Dance’s saddle into place. “I don’t want Little Sister Thora to leave, though.”

Ormr lightly patted his shoulder. “She promised to visit in future, so you can look forward to that.”

Sindri said nothing; he merely continued to pout.

Ulfr lightly shook his head, quietly laughing under his breath as he helped Thora ready her dragon. He tightened a buckle on one of the saddlebags before giving it a firm pat; the bag’s contents didn’t budge. “Now, are certain you have everything you need?” he questioned. He looked up, seeing the two, large chests strapped to Death Dance’s back. “Once you leave, if forgot something, may not get it for quite some time. Trader Johann has no regular schedule.”

Thora nodded. “I’m sure,” she replied, her voice quiet. Ulfr knew she was trying to keep herself from turning into a blubbering mess like Sindri. “If I _did_ forget somethin’, it probably wasn’t very important t’ me.”

“And you are sure Death can handle this weight?” He knocked on the side of one of the chests. “Solid oak…is heavy even to me.”

She managed a small grin. “You’re not a dragon,” she reminded him. “Aye, she can carry it. Ormr would throw entire trees for her t’ fetch, remember?”

He nodded, conceding defeat. “True, true…She is good dragon.” He limped forward, moving to give Death Dance a good scratch under her jaw. “She will keep you safe on your journey, I am sure.”

Ormr and Sindri came over, also scratching Death Dance in all her favorite places.

“Before met you and her, never would have been able to think that dragons are tamable,” Ormr admitted. “Have always seen them as wild, monstrous creatures. I see we were wrong.”

“Death is like a giant puppy,” Sindri sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Kind of want a dragon of my own…”

At that, Thora laughed. “Unless ya find a Boneknapper, I don’t think you’d be able t’ ride one,” she told him, wiping a tear from her eye. “Unless ya don’t mind treatin’ it like a giant puppy.”

Sindri smiled, though he was already shedding tears. “Of course! It could lay on my feet, keeping them warm in winter.” He managed to make even Ulfr laugh with that remark. Then, scooping up Thora, he gave her a tight hug. “Am going to miss you both, Little Sister Thora.” Kissing the top of her head, he gave her a small squeeze.

“I’m goin’ t’ miss ya lot, too,” she choked out, hugging him as best she could. With only one arm, it was an odd task, so she used her tail as a second arm. “I’ll be sure t’ write as often as I can. Especially once the trouble hits. I hope t’ gods it won’t be as bad as our war.”

Reluctant to let her go, Sindri finally acquiesced when Ormr gently pried their sister from him. “And we will write, too, and also hope the trouble is not as devastating,” Ormr told her as he hugged her. His was also a one-armed hug, but only because he didn’t want to squish her. “And will send gifts.”

“Ya don’t need t’ send me gifts,” she chuckled, trying to give him a big squeeze. “Lettin’ me come here for as long as ya did an’ trainin’ me in magic an’ healin’ is more than enough.”

“You know that is not how we do.” He kissed her forehead before passing her to Ulfr.

If she wasn’t so overcome by her emotions, Thora would have felt strange -this was the first time Ulfr had ever hugged her. He hugged her tighter than Sindri, but not enough to crush her.

“Am proud of how far you have come, Little Sister Thora,” he murmured, feeling her return the tight hug. “Will admit, I did not have high hopes for you when you first came. But I was wrong, and am glad to have been proven such. You are every bit our little sister as can be.” She felt a couple of his hot tears fall from his chin onto her shoulder.

She let out a small, choked laugh, though she was unable to say anything. Once more, Ormr scooped her up only to set her in Death Dance’s saddle.

“Fly safe, Little Sister,” he told her and she saw the tears falling from his eyes.

“May the gods protect you both on journey,” Ulfr added.

Sindri was sobbing too hard to say anything, so he merely waved goodbye to her.

“You three stay safe, too,” she told them, her voice shaking as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “If any more trouble with the hunters pops up, let me know…I may be able t’ get ya some reinforcements. Dragons included.”

They laughed.

She smiled, though it was a sad expression. “I mean it. Stay safe. I _will_ visit in the future. I may even bring Hiccup or my da’ when I come.”

“We look forward to it,” Ormr smiled. He glanced down at Sindri, who had clung onto his arm and started crying against his shoulder. Sighing, he rolled his eyes and patted the top of his head.

As Thora pulled on the reins, Death Dance spread her wings and rose into the air. She circled around the house once before pausing above the brothers.

“I love ya three!” Thora called down to them. “Goodbye.”

“We love you too, Little Sister Thora.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the last of the super-long chapters! Now, I need to rewatch the first season of Race to the Edge so I can remember what all happens and work on plot stuff xD 
> 
> Also, I just want to let ya'll know if ever you wanted to send me a PM to just chat or something, feel free! I may not be able to respond right away thanks to Real Life, but I will respond to you 99% of the time :)


	22. 22

It was a cold day on Berk, which was fairly normal given that it was mid-autumn. Ruffnut and Tuffnut were huddled under their wool cloaks, lamenting the loss of summer as they sat atop Barf and Belch. They had been trying to come up with new ideas for pranking people, but when a bitter breeze blew past the sea stack they hid on, they had gotten distracted.

“I could really use some of mom’s yak stew right about now,” Tuffnut grumbled, laying across Belch’s neck. Though not a fire-breathing dragon, the Zippleback still provided an ample amount of warmth.

“Nah, man. Give me some of her red fish stew. That stuff will warm you up inside _and_ out,” Ruffnut replied. Like her brother, she, too, was clinging onto Barf for warmth. “I don’t know what she puts in it that makes it so spicy, but I _like_ it.”

“It’s called horseradish. It’s that bit, long root mom grates and then throws in vinegar. I don’t like it too much. I prefer the hotness and flavor of mustard.”

She shrugged. “I just like that it makes the stew hot. I don’t know what it tastes like besides that.”

Tuffnut snickered, lifting the hood of his cloak to look at his sister. “That’s ’cause you don’t have as refined a palate as I do.”

Her brow rose as she rolled her eyes. “I have the same palate as you; I just like different foods.”

It was Tuffnut’s turn to shrug. He was too cold to really argue. “Have we replaced Snotlout’s sandbags with bags of yak crap yet?”

“No, but No-Longer-Silent Sven has a guard Gronckle now, so we wouldn’t be able to steal it.”

“We don’t _have_ to steal it. We could just try asking him for it for once.”

Ruffnut gave him a long look. “When have _we_ ever _asked_ for anything?” She then pulled up her hood as another chilly wind blew by.

“Hey, it may be worth a shot. The others can get away with a lot of stuff just by asking.” He shifted somewhat, bringing his arms up under his cloak as he huddled closer to Belch. “I mean, look at Snotlout: He asked to be Gobber’s assistant, and now he is. If _he_ can get something by asking, why can’t we?”

Stroking her chin, Ruffnut pondered over his words. “You’ve made a fair point, dear brother,” she murmured. “Perhaps we could _try_ asking…”

Tuffnut glanced over at her, though he could only see the lining of his hood. “I’m going to assume that means—” He paused as what sounded like a roar came from his sister’s direction. “Was that your stomach?” he asked, lifting his hood.

Ruffnut lifted her hood as well, her brow cocked. “Uh, I thought it was _your_ stomach.”

In unision, they looked back at Barf and Belch’s stomach, but the dragon made no noise. Something from the corner of his eye caught Tuffnut’s attention and he frowned, covering his eyes as he squinted at it. Ruffnut was about to question what he was doing when he instinctively covered her mouth, shushing her.

“There is a large, white speck flying right towards Berk,” he told her, turning her head to look at said speck. “Do you know what happened the last time a large, white speck flew towards Berk?”

“Uh, yeah? The Screaming Death happened. It was only the most exciting near-death experience I’ve ever had,” Ruffnut replied, her voice somewhat muffled thanks to Tuffnut’s hand. She bit his finger, making him yelp and let go of her face.

Shaking his hand, Tuffnut glared at her. “As cool as the Screaming Death is, we should _probably_ let the rest of Berk know.” He somewhat flinched as the dragon roared again.

“Yeah. We just got everything rebuilt and stuff,” agreed Ruffnut. “As much as I love chaos and destruction, I worked my butt off helping rebuild houses and build all those new dragon feeders!”

Sitting upright, the twins and their Hideous Zippleback took to the air, heading back to Berk. They were somewhat in luck: When they were nearing the island, they could see Astrid doing flying drills with Stormfly around the humungous Viking statues. Flying over, they started waving their hands and shouting at her.

“Hey! Hey Astrid!” Tuffnut shouted. “We need to tell you something!”

“Yeah! It’s really important for once!” Ruffnut added. “Like _really_ important!”

Astrid was visibly annoyed as she flew over; after all, they had interrupted her drills. “What did you break this time?” she sighed, pushing her bangs out of her face.

“We didn’t break anything!” Ruffnut pouted.

“Yeah, we broke nothing. And that you would _assume_ such a thing of us shows your lack of respect towards us,” Tuffnut retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “For your information, there happens to be a one Screaming Death flying right towards Berk.”

Astrid’s eyes shot open. “WHAT!?” she cried, startling Stormfly into raising her tail spikes.

Ruffnut nodded, also crossing her arms over her chest. “You heard him. The Screaming Death is flying towards Berk right as we speak. It’s still a few miles out, so we’ve got time to—Rude.” Astrid had flown off in the middle of her sentence.

Tuffnut reached over and lightly patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, sis. We’ll get her back by filling her pillow with yak dung.”

Nodding in agreement, Ruffnut grinned somewhat. “I was thinking about Fireworms instead.”

“Ooh, I like the way you think!”

As they continued to talk, Barf and Belch turned and started flying towards the village. By the time they reached Berk, Astrid already had managed to gather the other dragon riders in the center of the village. Landing between Fishlegs and Hookfang, the twins quieted themselves as Hiccup looked at them.

“Astrid said you two saw the Screaming Death by the outer sea stacks?” he questioned.

Ruffnut nodded. “Yeah. It was just a speck on the horizon, but it was a _big_ speck on the horizon.”

“And white,” Tuffnut added. “Don’t forget that. It was a _big, white_ speck.”

Snotlout, his brow raised in disbelief, looked at them. “A big white speck, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“In the sky?” he questioned again before Hiccup could interrupt.

“Uh…yeah?” Ruffnut snorted. “Where else would we have seen it? In the ocean? Everyone knows Screaming Deaths don’t swim.”

He thrust his hand towards the sky. “ _Hello_! It was probably just a cloud!” He then slumped forward over Hookfang’s horns, rolling his eyes. “You two are mutton-heads.”

Tuffnut scowled. “I’ll have you know that it was moving _way_ too fast _against_ the wind to be a mere _cloud_ ,” he snapped.

Sticking his finger in his mouth, Fishlegs held his hand up. “He’s right. The wind is blowing to the east and the dragon is flying west, _towards_ us.”

“How do you know that?” Hiccup questioned, brows furrowing.

Fishlegs pointed into the distance, a worried look on his face. “I can see it.”

Hiccup hurried reached into his saddlebag, pulling out his spyglass. “Let’s see if it’s brought any of its siblings with it,” he mumbled before peering into it. It took him a few seconds to locate the dragon with the glass, as he hadn’t yet invented a focus-changing version, but when he did find it, he suddenly let out a laugh.

“Are you feeling alright?” Astrid demanded, brows knitted together. “You just laughed at a _Screaming Death_.”

“I’m feeling a lot better than I was a few minutes ago!” he grinned, lowering the spyglass. “I’m sorry, twins, but you guys were totally wrong. It’s _not_ a Screaming Death.”

They wore matching looks of disappointment. “It’s not?” Ruffnut frowned.

“But what else could be a large, white speck _and_ a dragon?” Tuffnut questioned.

“I hate to say it, but they have a point,” Snotlout agreed with a shrug. “We haven’t found any white dragons besides Sir Screams-a-lot.”

Rolling his eyes, Hiccup chuckled. “Guys, it’s a Boneknapper!”

Astrid, Snotlout, and Fishlegs all stared at him quizzically. They didn’t understand why a Boneknapper had made him so excited. The twins, however, had wide eyes and even wider grins. They knew _exactly_ why he was excited.

“ _Thora’s back_!” they shouted together, making Barf and Belch cringe. Hopping off the Zippleback, they hooked arms and started dancing around, chanting ‘Thora’s back!’ over and over again. They weren’t surprised at all when Hiccup jumped from Toothless and joined in with their dancing.

Astrid shook her head, laughing. “Well, having Thora come back is a _much_ better surprise than a Screaming Death attack,” she joked.

Fishlegs let out a sigh of relief. “No kidding. I wasn’t prepared to fight any dragons today. Meatlug and I pulled an all-nighter last night thanks to this really cool book I got from Trader Johann a few weeks ago-”

“No one cares about your stupid books, Fish-face,” Snotlout groaned. “Hookfang and I were totally looking forward to kicking some dragon butt…things have been too boring lately.” Shaking his head, they took to the air. “Whatever. We’re out of here.”

Ruffnut blew a raspberry at him as he flew away. “Whatever! She hates your guts anyway!” she called after him. She turned back to Hiccup and Tuffnut. “Uh, should we tell Gobber and Stoick? I mean, they are her dads, after all.”

Hiccup cocked his brow. “My dad isn’t her dad.”

“Close enough!” Tuffnut grinned. “Stoick helped raise her just as much as Gobber did and practically the whole town considers him one of her dads, even if she calls him ‘uncle’.”

Astrid chuckled. “You got to admit, he’s got a point,” she told Hiccup. “And, in that same vein, Gobber’s like a second dad to you, too. It’s not a bad thing -it’s actually rather sweet.”

Fishlegs nodded in agreement. “Yeah! I mean, sure, you’re not related by blood, but you’re definitely related by bond. But, uh…yeah, you’ll want to get them soon -Thora’s nearly here.”

Turning, Hiccup saw that Death Dance was only a mile or so from the island. “I’ll go get Gobber. Astrid, could you go find my dad and let him know? I don’t know if he’ll be too busy to visit until tonight, but I know Gobber’s going to want to see her right away.”

She nodded. “No problem. C’mon, Stormfly. Let’s go find us a chieftain.”

Both Astrid and Hiccup took to the air, flying off to different parts of the village. Fishlegs soon left as well, knowing that it was better for close friends of Thora’s to see her arrive first. Left alone, the twins watched as Death Dance grew larger and larger by the second.

“Is it just me or does Death Dance seem… _bigger_?” Tuffnut questioned.

Ruffnut shrugged. “Well, she and Thora have been gone _three_ years. I don’t think either of them would stay the same size.” She flicked one of her braids over her shoulder. “My question is what kind of injury she did she get from that war she fought in? Ever since she told us about it, I’ve been dying to know.”

“I totally forgot about that!” Tuffnut gasped. “Gods, now I want to know, too!” He pouted and stamped his foot impatiently. “That Boneknapper needs to learn how to fly faster!”

“That Boneknapper has flown a lot farther than your dragon has.” Hiccup had returned, Gobber in tow. “I’d give her a bit of a break, if I were you.”

They pouted, but said nothing -they didn’t want to upset Gobber.

“I can’t believe she’s here so soon!” Gobber chirped, brushing some soot off his cheek. “I knew she said she’d be comin’ home soon, but I wasn’t expectin’ her until _after_ the winter passed!” His eyes were wide and full of joy; Hiccup didn’t remember if he had ever seen the blacksmith look so happy before. “Oh, I can’t wait t’ see how my lovey’s grown!”

Shortly after the arrival of Gobber, Death Dance started her downwards descent. The group watched as she came in to land a few yards away. Ruffnut quickly realized that Tuffnut had been right about Death Dance being bigger, however: Either her memory wasn’t remembering the dragon right, or she had grown nearly five feet in length since they left.

“She looks like she could kill us with a glance,” Tuffnut murmured, a silly grin on his face as he watched Thora dismount.

Clad in a brown bear-skin cloak, it was obvious Thora now towered above even the tallest of Vikings. Pushing back her hood, made from the bear’s skull, she smiled tiredly at the group. Behind her, Death Dance stretched out on the ground, happily nuzzling Toothless as the Night Fury bounded over.

“Hey, guys,” she said. “I’m home.”

The words had scarcely left her mouth when Gobber raced over and tightly hugged her. “Look at how you’ve grown, lovey!” he cried, pulling back slightly and looking up at her. “My gods, you’re as tall as your mum was when I met her!” he laughed. “An’ look at this cloak!” He pulled one of the paws from around her shoulder, surprised by how massive it was. “Did ya kill the bear yourself or did one o’ your brothers?”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Ulfr did,” she admitted, taking the claw back before Gobber accidentally gouged himself. “I’m glad t’ see you’re doin’ as well as ya said ya were.”

“O’ course I am!” he grinned, giving her a second, tighter hug. “What, ya think I was lyin’ t’ ya t’ keep ya from gettin’ worried?”

Her brow rose, though she wore a knowing grin. “O’ course! An’ I know ya thought the same o’ me,” she told him. Glancing past him, her eyes suddenly widened and she pushed Gobber out of the way -just in time, because two, blonde blurs lunged at her. She was just barely able to brace herself for the impact, though she was only catch one of them.

“Our best friend is back!” Ruffnut cheered, not caring that she slowly slid down Thora’s side while Tuffnut was held off the ground. She held on tighter and was able to hold herself up; she didn’t notice the lack of arm under the cloak.

“And she knows magic now so she can help us with pranks!” Tuffnut laughed, smooshing his cheek against Thora’s. “But she’s back and that’s the most important thing!”

Laughing, Thora leaned forward so they could touch the ground. “I missed ya two dorks, too,” she grinned, lightly punching Tuffnut’s arm. With her tail, she gave Ruffnut a hug-like squeeze. “But no magic pranks.”

“We’ll change your mind,” Ruffnut replied, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. “We always do!”

Rolling her eyes again, Thora shook her head. “Not this time ya won’t,” she said. Using her tail once more, she lightly pushed the twins aside as Hiccup came over. “Bloody hell! My wee cousin did a fair bit o’ growin’ while I was gone!” she laughed, seeing that he was a good head taller than when she left.

“I think the same can be said for you,” he grinned, giving her a big hug. His brow rose; he noticed that she hugged him with only one arm, but didn’t comment on it just yet. “Let me guess: When your hair’s unbraided, it’s twice as wild as before?”

She snorted. “Sadly. Speakin’ o’ hair, though…” She glanced over at Tuffnut. “I like what you’ve done with yours.”

Tuffnut wore a cocky grin as he flipped a few of his dreadlocks over his shoulder. “Isn’t it great? It took a bit of work, but I think they turned out _awesome_.”

Ruffnut’s brow rose. “Uh…you got drunk and let me braid your hair and then didn’t take it out of the braids for a month. That’s why it’s like that.”

He frowned, glaring at her as Thora laughed.

Chuckling, Gobber reached up and set his hand on Thora’s shoulder. “How ‘bout we head back home an’ get ya some nice, warm cider, eh? Ya must be exhausted after flyin’ that distance.” He started to hobble off, the twins following after him.

“Ya know I can’t turn down a good mug o’ cider,” Thora grinned. Turning, she patted Death Dance on the wing. “C’mon, girl. Ya remember the way home?”

The Boneknapper chirped happily before rising to her feet and taking off into the air. Rolling her eyes, Thora quietly laughed.

“Silly thing -ya could have walked,” she murmured. She blinked, someone nudge her arm. Looking down, she saw Hiccup giving her a somewhat concerned look.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” she replied, smiling. “Just tired. Haven’t really slept well since I left home. Er, Enda Fjarðarins.”

He nodded in understanding, walking alongside her as the group started towards Gobber’s home. “It’s one of your homes,” he smiled. “How was the trip back here? Besides the poor sleep, that is.”

She shrugged. “It was fair. I stayed close t’ the beaches…Didn’t run across anybody, thank the gods.”

He frowned slightly. “Were you afraid you were going to?”

“After last year? Aye.” Sighing, she rubbed the back of her neck. “But!” She suddenly smiled again and lightly thwacked him with his tail. “That was in the past. I’m home now, an’ I’m eager t’ hear ‘bout what all happened while I was gone!”

She glanced around as they walked through the village; people were staring at her. Three years ago, their stares would have made her feel self-conscious and want to hurry past. Now, however, she merely smiled and waved, greeting familiar faces.

Soon enough, they had reached Gobber’s house. Death Dance, of course, had beaten them and was laying on the ground as Gobber and the twins worked at untying the chests from her back.

“Careful!” Thora warned, hurrying over as the twins lowered one of the trunks towards Gobber. “They’re heavier than the they look!”

“Are ya callin’ your ol’ man weak?” Gobber laughed. His eyes widened and he let out a small gasp as the twins released the full weight of the trunk into his arms. Despite his obvious panic, he managed a small smile and did his best to ease it to the ground; it was _much_ too heavy for him. “Er…”

She gave him an apologetic look as she came over. “I think that’s the one with all my potion brewin’ things,” she told him. “So it’s got a lot o’ metal in it.” To everyone’s awe, she grabbed the handle on its side and easily lifted the chest. Then, using her tail, she opened the door to the house and entered, having to nearly bend in half to do so.

Setting the chest down in the corner, she let out a small sigh and looked around. A fond smile came to her lips; she had missed this place. A small laugh then left her mouth; Gobber hadn’t moved her makeshift bed since she left and it didn’t surprise her in the least.

Having to stay bent over, she went into the pantry, finding the bottles of cider Gobber had promised. She then frowned -her father had very little in the way of vegetables and fruits stocked up. Instead, he had filled the shelves with dried and cured meats, breads, various bottles of alcohol, and different kinds of cheeses. She shook her head.

“Da’, I have half a mind t’ drag ya t’ the market right now,” she said, coming out of the pantry. She was in time to see the twins setting her second chest in the corner and Gobber plopping Death Dance’s saddlebags atop it. “Your pantry is in poor shape!” Setting the bottles of cider on the table, she headed for her bed, where she sat down.

Frowning, Gobber put his hand and hook on his hips. “I’ll have ya know my pantry is in _perfect_ condition!” he told her as she started to take off her cloak. “I got the four most important foods a person needs: Meat, cheese, bread, an’ beer!”

“Sounds good to me,” Ruffnut grinned. “That’s all the food anybody needs, really.”

Tuffnut cocked a brow and crossed his arms. “Uh, no it’s not. We need fruits and vegetables. Not only do they make meat and bread taste _better_ , but they make it easier to shi--”

Ruffnut’s jaw fallen slack and she started hitting Tuffnut’s arm. Unable to grab his attention, she instead grabbed his face and forced him to look at Thora, who had removed her cloak. His jaw dropped; she had nothing past her left shoulder.

After a few minutes of stunned silence, they finally cried out in unison, “WHAT HAPPENED!?”

Gobber sighed, shaking his head. “I take it ya didn’t tell them, lovey?” he asked, his voice quiet. Hiccup noticed that he couldn’t bring himself to look at Thora’s shoulder.

Thora smiled, albeit guiltily. “Aye, I didn’t…I thought you or Hiccup would have told them,” she replied.

The twins looked at Hiccup, aghast and genuinely hurt. “ _You knew_?” Tuffnut gasped.

“And you _didn’t_ tell us?!” Ruffnut cried. “Our best friend lost her arm!”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. “Ah, well…To be fair, I didn’t know if she _wanted_ me to tell anyone.”

Still wearing the guilty look, Thora pulled her knees to her chest. “Don’t blame them,” she told the twins. “I barely knew how t’ tell _them_ that I lost it, let alone you two. I mean, honestly -how do ya even tell someone somethin’ like that in _writing_?”

Ruffnut plopped down beside her, scowling at her shoulder. “I don’t blame you there, but _someone_ should have let us know anyway,” she said as Tuffnut sat down on the other side of Thora. Both twins hugged her tightly; neither Hiccup nor Gobber had ever seen them so honestly concerned.

“Yeah. Losing an arm in battle is cool and all, but dude. What if you had gotten a worse injury?” Tuffnut added. “Like, what if you lost _both_ arms, or an arm and a leg?”

“Hey!” Gobber pouted. “I missin’ an arm an’ a leg an’ I’m doin’ just fine!”

Ruffnut blew a raspberry at him as Tuffnut said, “You’re missing _half_ a leg and a _quarter_ of your arm.”

Thora couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s got a point,” she admitted. “I don’t even have a stump left. Ormr had t’ take the whole thing.” Undoing the laces on her tunic, she tugged it off before shrugging the shoulder of her underdress off, showing the scar. “See? Just a big, nasty scar.”

“Whoa,” the twins murmured, their eyes wide.

“That’s…a pretty big scar you got there,” Hiccup commented, cringing at the sight of it. Truthfully, it didn’t look _too_ bad, but the size of it was what got him. “Bet it’ll make for a good story to tell, though!”

Gobber, however, shook his head with a heavy sigh. “I was hopin’ you’d avoid the family tradition o’ losin’ a limb,” he told her, opening the bottles of cider and pouring them into the kettle. He put it on the hook over the hearth, thanking Hiccup as the teen started to rebuild the fire. “But, at least ya lost it honorably instead o’ t’ sickness or disease.”

She chuckled, pulling her dress back up. “I’m a Viking,” she told him, flicking a braid over her shoulder. “It’s an occupational hazard.”

 

Over the course of the day, more and more people came to the house to welcome Thora home. Stoick arrived about half an hour after she got home, with Ylva and Bucket coming soon after with a plate of honey cakes. More towards dinner, Astrid, Fishlegs, and Gothi showed up; Fishlegs had brought a large cauldron of yak stew as a gift. Of course, once everyone had shown up, it was demanded of Thora to tell the stories of how she got her scars, what it was like to live amongst trolls, and what all she had learned while she was away.

While Thora reunited with her friends inside, Death Dance and the other dragons reunited outside. They admired how much they had all grown over the last three years and showed off some of the new tricks they learned. They then ran about, playing dragon games like chase and tag, before finally settling down in Death Dance’s roost for a well-deserved nap.

It was well past dark by the time the last person finally left the house, leaving just Gobber, Thora, and Hiccup. Goober, however, could barely stay awake, so Thora did her best to send him off to bed.

“I’m wide awake!” he argued as she lightly shoved him towards the stairs. “I could stay awake for hours!” Despite his words, he paused in his steps and covered his mouth as he yawned.

“Well, ya don’t need to,” she assured him. “I’ll be here when ya wake up -don’t you worry ‘bout that, alright? Now go t’ bed, da’! You’re fallin’ asleep where you’re standin’.”

He opened his eyes, pouting somewhat. “I am not.”

She gave him a look. “Ya just did.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Gobber started up the stairs. “Fine…but ya better still be here come mornin’!”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled up at him. “I will, I promise. I’m hopin’ I’ll get t’ sleep in come mornin’.” Watching her father disappear up the stairs, she let out a sigh and returned to the table, where she sat down on a stool. She then let herself flop forward across the tabletop. “Odin’s undies, today was unexpectedly busy…”

Hiccup pityingly patted her arm, but smiled. “Hey, at least you didn’t have to cook for everyone!” he joked.

She chuckled. “That’s true,” she agreed, sitting upright once more. She shifted on the stool; it was much too short for her. “I’m goin’ t’ have a hard time rememberin’ that I’m goin’ t’ have t’ duck everywhere now, though…At my brothers’ place, I needed stools t’ reach everythin’. Here? Everything is so short!”

“No, you’re just really tall,” he chuckled. “But your brothers were pretty huge, huh? Didn’t you say Ormr was like, twenty feet tall or something?”

“Aye. I could easily sit on his shoulder. Ulfr was the shortest, an’ he was still a good six feet taller than me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking somewhat worried. “We’d be like ants to them, then…”

“Oh, when they were around humans, they shrunk their stature t’ be polite,” she explained, “since otherwise, the humans would be talkin’ t’ their leg hair or somethin’. But, since I’m their sister, they remained their true heights.”

Nodding in understanding, he got up and went to pour himself more tea. “Are you still able to shapeshift, or is that poison stuff stopping that, too?”

“Sadly, the poison is makin’ it hard. It already takes a lot o’ concentration an’ magic t’ shapeshift, so it’s goin’ t’ be a long while before I can do even the slightest bit o’ shiftin’ again. I don’t mind, though -Even at my best, I wasn’t very good at shapeshiftin’. Ulfr said it’s probably because I’m half human, so the magic doesn’t quite know how t’ work with me.”

Hiccup’s brow rose. “Er…what?”

She let out a small laugh. “Sorry. I forgot that ya don’t know how magic works. At least, how _troll_ magic works.” Covering her mouth, she yawned. “See, the difference between human magic an’ troll magic is that human magic comes from within themselves an’ uses their own energy an’ strength t’ work. A human can build up their magical strength t’ great amounts -kind o’ like the sorcerers an’ witches from the tales we heard as kids.

“But troll magic comes from the earth itself. It’s like a river; it _wants_ to flow and t’ be used so it takes far less strength an’ energy t’ use it. With troll magic, it’s a matter o’ controlling it because, like a river, it could easily be flooded or dried up if you’ve got poor control over it.”

“But, since you’re half human, what does that mean?”

“It means I can use both types o’ magic,” she answered. “But, thanks t’ the poison in my veins, I’m havin’ a hard time with it. It’s a _wee_ bit easier usin’ my human magic, but I wasn’t…I wasn’t really trained t’ use it. I was trained t’ use my troll magic. I _can_ use it, but it’s difficult.”

He nodded, trying his best to understand all of this. Admittedly, Hiccup wasn’t really fond of magic -it just didn’t make sense how witches could produce something from _nothing_. But, he wasn’t going to argue against it; it had proven more than a little useful in times past, especially in regards to healing his leg. He would just have to take his cousin’s word for it.

“But, you said you’re pushing past the poison and you can do some magic again?”

“Aye. Instead o’ being free-flowin’ t’ me now, it’s stubborn. For little things, it’ll come t’ me no problem. But, say I wanted t’…Er…” She looked around, trying to think of a good example for Hiccup. “Ah! Say I wanted t’ change this table around so that it was round instead o’ square-”

“Isn’t that a form of shapeshifting?” he interrupted, his brow rising.

She shook her head. “Shapeshifting involves livin’ things. Anyway, as I was sayin’: Say I wanted t’ make this table round. It’d take a great deal o’ effort for me t’ gather up the magic needed t’ do that whereas, if I wanted t’—oh, I don’t know. Make the effects o’ a tea more potent, it only takes a wee bit o’ magic.”

Again, he nodded. “So, the more magic something requires, the harder it is for you?”

“Aye.”

“That’s…odd. Then again, I think magic as a whole is odd to me.”

Thora smiled, leaning back somewhat on the stool. “O’ course it is. You’re a lad, an’ lads don’t really understand magic unless they devote themselves t’ a god or goddess.”

He pouted. “I’m sure I could understand it if I had time to study it…”

She covered her mouth as she yawned. “It’s alright, Hiccup. Honestly. I’ve been at it for four years an’ I still barely understand it.” Pushing some of her braids back, she gave him a tired smile. “But that’s alright. What I _do_ know is enough t’ help me be a better Völva come time for me t’ replace Gothi.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled. Glancing over at the dying fire, he let out a quiet sigh. “I should probably head home. It’s getting late and dad wants me and Toothless to help No-Longer-Silent-Sven bring his sheep down into the wintering pasture tomorrow.”

“An important task, that one. Just don’t let Toothless roll in the sheep dung, alright?” she joked, watching as Hiccup stood up. Coming around the table, he gave her a big hug.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he told her, giving her an extra squeeze. “Maybe things will get a little exciting again now that you’re back?”

“Oh gods, I hope not,” she told him, making herself chuckle. She hadn’t told anyone about what the runes had told her -not yet, at least. “I came here t’ get some peace an’ quiet again. The last year has been…fairly crazy.”

“Just a little.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “Hey, at least things can only go up from here, right?”

She nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she smiled and stood up, seeing him to the door. As she watched him fly off on Toothless, she let out a quiet sigh before stepping back inside.

‘Let’s hope things only go up from here,’ she thought, curling up in her bed. She shifted around for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable -after all, it was more a pile of furs and blankets rather than an actual bed. Eventually, though, she managed to fall into a surprisingly deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ya have _no_ idea how much I’ve been lookin’ forward t’ this.”

“Uh, no offense, but a bath is a weird thing to look forward to.”

Thora glanced down at Ruffnut as they entered the tunnel leading to the bathing pools. “I traveled for a week without a bath,” she told her. “After spendin’ the last four years o’ my life bathin’ every other day, I feel _disgusting_.”

Ruffnut shrugged. “Well, that’s because you’re a healer. Healers are always unnaturally clean. The rest of know that bathing once a week is good enough.”

Rolling her eyes with a grin, Thora gave her a light nudge with her tail. “We also have less bugs crawlin’ ‘round our bodies,” she joked. She shivered as she felt the air growing warmer and more humid; they were nearing pools. There was a lingering smell of body odor in the air, making her nose scrunch up somewhat. ‘My soap and oils will fix that,’ she thought, following Ruffnut around a corner.

“Now _that_ I’ll admit is true,” Ruffnut snickered. Now bathed in the yellow-green light of the Monstrous Nightmare torches and out of sight of the main hall, she threw down her bag of bathing tools and started to strip. “But, Berk’s fairly lucky in that we don’t really have much of a problem with fleas or lice…Unless you visit one of the farms, of course. _Then_ bugs become a problem.”

Following her friend’s lead, Thora set down her bag and began to disrobe. “They’re fairly rampant on the mainland, no matter how clean ya stay.” Even though nearly a year had passed since she lost her arm, she still found it difficult to pull her clothes over her head. “Then again, there’re more people on the mainland, so it’s easier for the bugs t’ spread.” Finally getting her tunic and underdress off, she made quick work of unlacing her trousers before walking into the steaming water.

“And I assume they’re constantly around each other, so that makes the spreading worse.” She, too, stepped into the water, but she promptly flopped backwards, draping her arms behind her on the rocks as she reclined. “So, speaking of the mainland…” A mischievous grin came to her lips as she watched Thora sit down near her. “You never told me about how attractive the people were!”

Her brow rising, Thora glanced over at her. “Pardon?”

She reached over and lightly shoved her. “C’mon! Don’t act so innocent -I _know_ there had to be some handsome blokes and gorgeous girls. You said Enda Fjarðarins was a bit melting pot of all sorts of people, human and not.” She started to unravel her braids, the scent of fish oil now joining that of the body odor; Thora did her best to not gag. “So, spill the cabbages!”

Biting her lip, Thora shrugged and glanced away. “Er…well, the humans looked fairly normal? Lots o’ blondes an’ brunettes…But they wore more colors than the people o’ the Barbaric Archipelago. Pinks, reds, blues, greens, yellows -all o’ those were fairly common. Out o’ everyone, only my brothers wore purple, though.”

Ruffnut’s eyes widened. “They make _purple_ clothing!?” she gasped.

“It’s extremely rare,” Thora said. “My brothers are royalty, so they could afford it.” With the help of her tail, she, too, began undoing her braids. “Anyway, the humans looked, well. Like humans. The dwarves -there weren’t many, mind ya- looked like if ya took a Hairy Hooligan an’ cut off their legs at the knees.”

“Short, buff, hairy folk? Yep. Sounds like a dwarf. What about other beings? Were there any of those half-horse people or half-bull people? What about elves? Did you see any of _those_?”

Chuckling, she rolled her eyes. “No elves, centaurs, or minotaurs, but there were beings called Naiads. They’re an all-female race an’ they preferred to stay close t’ the rivers, since they’re freshwater creatures. But -oh my gods, Ruffnut, they were absolutely _beautiful_!” A wistful sigh left her mouth and she smiled at the memory of the one she had met. “I got the chance t’ meet one o’ them thanks t’ the war and augh…I swear, if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was a goddess.”

Ruffnut’s brow rose, intrigue written on her face. “Oh? What do they look like, then?”

“The one I met had a woman’s shape, but her body was made o’ water an’ it churned through her like a ragin’ storm. Her hair -if it could be called that- floated about her shoulders like seafoam an’ her eyes were as deep as ocean but as clear as a tricklin’ stream.” Another sigh left her mouth and she relaxed her back against the rocks. “I wish I could have met more o’ them, but like I said, I only met this one because o’ the war. I provided protection for Aphrodisios when he went to barter with them.”

“Aphrodisios?”

“A satyr. He was the one who did all my tattoos an’ is the husband o’ the dwarven woman I wrote about.”

Ruffnut blinked. “Tattoos…?” She squinted through the torchlight; thanks to a combination of the yellow-green hue of the light and Thora’s dark skin, she hadn’t noticed the darker patterns along her body. Now that she was actively looking, however, she could see the bands around Thora’s arm and legs as well as the dragon head over her breast.

Her eyes widened and her jaw fell slack; before she could stop herself, she grabbed Thora’s leg and pulled her over, wanting to get a closer look. “These are amazing!” she cried, ignoring Thora’s yelp of surprise. Her finger traced the knot work between the two red bands. “A satyr did these?” She forcibly turned Thora, looking at the one on her arm. “ _Frig give me wisdom_ …Fitting, since you’re going to be a Völva and all that. But, seriously -a _satyr_? Aren’t they Greek?”

Thora felt her cheeks grow dark as Ruffnut shoved some of her hair behind her shoulder, getting a better look at the dragon on her breast. “Aye, he’s Greek, but he’s good at our northern art styles.” Before Ruffnut could say anything further, she turned her back towards the blonde and moved her hair out of the way.

“Ah!” Ruffnut cried, delight in her voice. “You seriously got Yggdrasil on your back!? That’s _awesome_!” She turned Thora a bit more so the torchlight lit her back up better. “What did your brothers think? Or do they even know?”

“Most o’ them were their ideas,” she chuckled, once more letting herself recline against the rocks. “In fact, the only one that _wasn’t_ their idea was Yggdrasil.” Looking down at her left shoulder, she let out a small sigh. “I had a sixth one -on my left arm. It matched the one on my right, but it said ‘Freya give me grace’ instead. Those had been Sindri’s idea. Said that they would help put me in the good graces o’ the goddesses. Ormr suggested the ones on my thighs, though I think he meant for them t’ go on my calves instead.” She chuckled, running her hand through her hair. “An’ Ulfr all but demanded I get the dragon. That was my last one. He wanted me t’ get it because o’ the war.”

Ruffnut frowned somewhat, glancing at Thora’s scarred shoulder. “…Well, at least they all look cool. Does Gobber know ‘bout them?”

A cheeky grin suddenly came to Thora’s face. “Nope. An’ he’s not goin’ t’ find out, either,” she snickered. “At least, not until _after_ I’ve got my own place.” Standing up, she reached behind the rock for her bag. From it, she pulled her soap and a bottle of oil. “That way, he can’t threaten t’ kick me out when he does.”

“You’re not going to live with him for much longer?” she questioned, brow rising.

“No.” She moved to the deeper section of the pool, amused that the water barely covered her hips. “I can’t, really. Ya saw how I had t’ walk yesterday -unless I want t’ crawl around on my hand an’ knees, the house is just too small for me now.”

Nodding in understanding, Ruffnut started to scrub at her skin, her nails acting just as good as soap in her mind. “True. I was thinking of moving out a while ago, maybe buildin’ a place with Kenna, but right now, we’re both sick and tired of building things.”

Thora laughed. “That’s what happens when ya apprentice yourself off t’ a carpenter,” she teased. “You an’ Kenna are still goin’ strong, though?”

A proud grin came to Ruffnut’s lips. “A year and three months next week,” she chirped. “Her dad’s not too happy about it, though. He doesn’t think it’s right that two people of the same sex can fall in love.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora snorted. “And yet, our gods can have sex with animals and bear their children in addition t’ havin’ same-sex lovers,” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. She then nervously glanced skywards. “No offense meant, Loki. I’m sure Sleipnir is a wonderful son.”

Ruffnut cracked up. “This is Loki we’re talking about,” she assured her. “He’s probably nodding in agreement with you!”

“I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Good point.” She sniffed the air, her brow rising; a pungent mixture of spices filled her nose and made her stomach growl in hunger. “What is that…?”

“My soap. It’s cloves, anise, cinnamon, an’ a hint o’ frankincense.”

“Gods, that smells amazing. Can I use some?”

Thora passed the bar over with her tail. “It’s made with goat milk, so it makes the skin super soft,” she told her. “I never did get the recipe, but it’s one they use near the Mediterranean. Trader Johann gets all sorts o’ scents of soap from there.”

“…It’s a lot better smelling than my fish oil,” she admitted, starting to rub it on her skin.

“Ruff, _most_ things smell better than your fish oil.”

 

* * *

 

 

Gothi’s hut seemed even smaller than she remembered.

Afraid of breaking a stool, Thora sat on the ground as she listened to the scratching of Gothi’s chalk against the blackboard. She lifted a mug of tea to her lips, looking around the room. Not much had changed while she had been away: Dried herbs still hung from the rafters, all sorts of pots and pans were stacked up in the loft, and everything was kept clean. The only thing that had changed was the smell; when she left, Gothi’s hut smelled of peppermint. Now it smelled of drying apples and burning oak.

Gothi tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention. Setting her mug aside, Thora apologized and took the board as it was handed to her. ‘When I visited a few days ago, you had told me that your brothers had some things you wished to discuss with me,’ she read. ‘I take it you have had some worrisome rune readings as well?’

She nodded, handing the slate back. “Aye. Even Sindri did some castings an’ he got the same results: Berk’s peace isn’t goin’ t’ last much longer.”

The old woman nodded in agreement as she erased her previous words. ‘Do you have your stones? I would like to compare castings.’

Again, she nodded. Rising to her knees, she reached into her satchel and pulled out the small bag containing her rune stones. As she set it on the table, she used to her tail to grab Gothi’s bag of runes for her. “Five rune layout? T’ try an’ get a more precise reading?” she asked.

A smile came to Gothi’s lips. ‘That works for me,’ she wrote.

Almost in unison, the two women shook their rune bags, their eyes closed as they let their magic flow from their fingers and into the stones. Opening the bags, they silently questioned the runes about the trouble coming to Berk. They picked five stones, laying them in a row before them. When they opened their eyes, they were more than a little surprised to find the exact same runes laid out before them.

Berkana, inguz, jera, hagalaz, raido.

Gothi looked up, studying Thora’s face as the younger witch mulled over the runes. She wrote nothing, waiting to hear what her interpretation would be. Of course, she had already come up with her own -but how close it was to Thora’s made her curious.

Biting her tongue, Thora let out a heavy sigh; she knew Gothi was waiting to hear what she thought. But she didn’t like what she read. After some minutes of tense silence passed, she ran her hand over her hair before propping her chin in her palm.

“The combination o’ berkana an’ inguz tells us that we’ve been in a time o’ peace an’ growth,” she explained, “which makes sense, given everythin’ that’s happened with the dragons. Jera, however, is tellin’ us that change is coming in the form o’ our peace endin’. Most o’ the time, the change brought about by jera is a good change -usually a bountiful harvest or somethin’ o’ the sort- but thanks t’ hagalaz here, we know the change is _bad_. Pain, sufferin’, an’ destruction is comin’. An’ then there’s raido, tellin’ us that after everything is done an’ said, some sort o’ journey is goin’ t’ be made.” She frowned, her nose scrunching up somewhat as she stared down at the runes.

‘The downside to rune castings is how vague they can be at times,’ Gothi wrote, sliding the board across the table before gathering up her runes.

“Do ya think we could get more information by askin’ the gods?” Thora questioned, picking up her stones and putting them back into their bag.

At that, Gothi’s brows furrowed. Taking the board back, she used the side of her hand to erased the last sentence before writing anew. ‘That is a risky thing to do if your magic is limited, child.’

She shrugged, glancing away. “But it could give us a clearer answer t’ our questions. Right now, we don’t know what kind o’ pain an’ suffering is t’ come. It could be a plague, it could be war, it could be we run out o’ food -it could literally be anythin’, Gothi!” She let out a heavy sigh, running her hand over her hair again. “How are we supposed t’ prepare ourselves when we _don’t_ know what’s comin’? Askin’ the gods is the only way we’re goin’ t’ get even the _slightest_ o’ hints.”

Lightly tapping the chalk against the board, Gothi let out a sigh as she thought over Thora’s words. Asking the gods would require one of them to go into a deep trance and with trances, there was always the risk of not coming back. There were many tricksters on the Gods’ Path that would love to lead the spirits of mortals astray, keeping them from returning to their bodies.

Finally, she began to write. ‘You are far more confident now than when I first started teaching you,’ she scratched out, a small smile on her lips. ‘I am glad to see that sending you to the mainland to learn under your brothers was not a wasted effort. If you believe seeking the Gods’ Path would grant us more foresight, then do such. Would you rather do it alone or would you want to do it in my presence?’

A smile came to Thora’s lips as well, though Gothi could see sadness in her eyes. “Funny how three, short years can do that, eh?” She flicked some hair over her shoulder. “I’d like ya t’ be present, but can we do it in the forest? I’d feel a bit more comfortable there.”

‘Of course. Shall I prepare a drink to help you ease your mind?’

Thora shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d like t’ keep my mind as clear as possible.”

Nodding in understanding, Gothi slid from her stool and grabbed her staff before wrapping a cloak around her shoulders. As Thora rose to her feet, she pitied the woman -she was bent nearly in half due to the roof. She followed her out of the house, where Thora whistled. A minute later, Death Dance appeared, having to set her tail on the ground in order for the two women to climb aboard. Gothi appreciated the care Thora took in helping her onto the dragon; the bones were tough for the old woman to navigate between.

The flight wasn’t a very long one. Less than five minutes and Thora was helping Gothi to the ground in a small clearing at the edge of the forest. Here, the flowers grew in a strange, swirling pattern, though none of them took notice of the phenomenon. They did notice the chill wind that blew past them, however, making Gothi shiver despite her cloak.

‘Are you sure you wish to do it out here?’ Gothi wrote in the dirt.

Shedding her cloak, Thora wrapped it around the elderly woman. “Aye, I am.” She walked a few yards deeper into the woods, letting her tail drag against the earth. After a few minutes of pacing, she found a suitable spot and, taking off her satchel, knelt down onto the ground.

Gothi watched in her typical silence as Thora drew three runes in the dirt with her finger: On the left was raido, on the right was ehwaz, and above them in the middle was isa. From her satchel, Thora pulled out a small, red bottle that she uncorked with her teeth before carefully connecting the runes with a line of oil. Being downwind, Gothi could smell that it was a mixture of lavender, rosemary, and possibly chamomile.

As Thora returned the bottle to her bag, she turned herself around and stretched out on the ground, her head resting between the runes and oil. Gothi came over and sat herself against the base of the nearest tree, holding Thora’s cloak closer to her body.

To say she was worried would have been putting it mildly.

“I’m not sure how long trances last,” Thora told her, “so if ya think it’s been too long, try t’ wake me.”

Gothi nodded, a solemn look on her face.

Looking skywards, Thora was able to see only hints of the clouds through the hundreds of evergreen boughs. She slowly breathed in through her nose, letting the powerful smell of the oil fill her lungs. Closing her eyes, she let her palm lightly rest against the ground.

There was magic here -ancient magic that slept deep within the earth. Such was its power that the dirt she laid on seemed to thrum with its strength. It started trickling towards her, mere droplets at first. The sounds of the world around her -the whispering winds, the sighing trees, the groaning of the earth- took over her mind and her senses were dulled. She was floating in nothingness. She could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. Everything was dark and hollow.

Suddenly, the floodgates opened and she felt the cool tingling of magic dragging her forward. She didn’t resist the pull; instead, she tried to run into it. Like a curtain in the wind, the darkness drifted away and she found herself standing in a wide, treeless meadow filled with golden grain. A figure stood before her, their back turned towards her.

“I was wondering when I’d finally get to meet you, Thora.”

Thora was unable to silence the gasp that left her mouth as the figure turned around. He was both familiar and foreign, with fiery red hair and earthly brown eyes. His body betrayed his strength, but his smile revealed his gentleness. Freckles trailed over his golden skin, accentuating the curve of his jaw and shoulders.

She instantly knew who he was. “You’re Freyr,” she whispered, eyes wide as she stared up at the god. He couldn’t have been anyone else. Everything about him radiated kindness, warmth, and love. But she was left wondering how he knew who _she_ was. The Æsir and Vanir were gods, yes, but with the exception of Odin, they weren’t all-knowing.

“I am he,” he replied, amused by her awe. “I suppose you were expecting my twin, Freya?”

She nodded, swallowing hard. Biting her tongue, she tried to look away from him so as to not be rude, but it was an impossible task. How could she look away from a god?

A quiet laugh left Freyr’s mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Normally, it _would_ be her or Lady Frig greeting those who seek aide, but this time, the Norns thought it would be best if I handled matters.” He motioned for her to come closer.

“Wh-why is that, my lord?” she questioned, moving forward.

Reaching out, Freyr gently ran his fingers through Thora’s hair, brushing it over her shoulder. Though he smiled, his eyes were filled with sorrow and pity. “Because they have been cruel to you,” he told her, his voice a soft as silk, “and they would have only given you riddles, not the answers you seek.”

Her brows furrowed as she glanced up at him. “Cruel to me? What do ya mean?” She unconsciously leaned into his touch, her eyes falling closed. His touch felt warm and safe…

Bringing her closer, Freyr wrapped his arms around her in a tender embrace; for a moment, her senses were overwhelmed by the smell of cinnamon and the forge. Neither scent she would have thought to associate with him.

“Certain parts of your life have forced you onto the path of becoming a future Völva,” he explained, “but you have not lived as such. You’ve taken lovers and you’ve taken part in battles. To be a Völva is to take no lovers and to fight no battles, unless it is against injury or in words.” He looked down at her only to find her face ridden with guilt and sorrow.

“I’ve had _one_ lover, but he’s--” she clenched her eyes shut for a moment before continuing. “I try t’ stay away from fights. I really do! But the last time I fought, it was because I _had_ to. It was fight or die.”

“I know this. _They_ know this. But, even we gods can be petty at times.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “That is why the Norns chose _me_ to greet you: I have no qualms with how you live, though I do suggest learning to be a bit selfish.” A playful smile now came to his lips. “Far too often, you seek to please those around you without caring for yourself.”  Kissing her forehead, he took her hand and motioning for her to sit with him. “Now,” he spoke once they were seated comfortably, “ask me your questions. I will do my best to answer them.”

Biting her tongue, Thora nervously started toying with the hem of her dress. “The last few months, I’ve been castin’ the runes t’ see what I should expect from the near future,” she began, “an’ every time, they’ve told me that some sort o’ trouble is comin’. I’ve tried bein’ more specific when I’m castin’, but I can never get a clear answer about _what_ kind o’ trouble is comin’. I want t’ be prepared for whatever’s comin’, but…” She sighed, running her hand over her hair.

Freyr nodded in understanding, his eyes closed. “You must understand that I can’t give you an explicit answer,” he admitted, “but what I _can_ tell you is that a monster from its past is going to return to Berk and with it comes new enemies.”

“A monster and new enemies?” she repeated, brows furrowing. Instantly, her mind thought of the Screaming Death and the Red Death -both dragons had devastated the island in the past. “I suppose ya can’t tell me what _kind_ o’ monster or enemies they’re goin’ t’ be?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But I can tell you that the monster _can_ be tamed -but only with patience, kindness, and love.”

‘Definitely sounds like a dragon,’ she thought. ‘But it’s going to bring a new enemy? How is that possible? Unless it’s another Red Death and its hive isn’t as friendly as the ones here…’

She was pulled from her thoughts as Freyr took her hand once more, tracing the lines of her palm. Whether it was because he was the god of love or because she longed for the touch of another, she didn’t know, but a shiver ran down her spine and she found herself wishing he would touch more of her than just her palm.

“What else would you like to know?” His voice had grown soft and there was a knowing look in his eyes as he watched her.

Thora’s cheeks grew hot and she looked away, embarrassed. “Is there any way we can prepare ourselves?”

“There is.” Like feathers, his fingers glided up her arm and along her neck. He smiled, watching her eyes slowly close as he slid his hand into her hair. “You must trust in yourself, trust in your friends, and above all else…”

Though she couldn’t see him, Thora knew he was drawing closer. Her eyes opened only slightly, finding the god’s face just a hairsbreadth away from hers.

“You must trust in love. Even when times seem bleakest, love will _always_ be there for you.”

She wanted to ask him more -ask him how he knew her name, ask him what she could do to appease Freya- but something grasped her around the waist, pulling her from him. Looking down, she could see tendrils of emptiness dragging her backwards, back towards the nothingness-

“Remember what I told you: With love, patience, and kindness, you _can_ tame the monster,” Freyr told her, sorrow filling his eyes as he watched the emptiness pull her away. “We will meet again, Thora Gretasdotter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while for this chapter to go up ^^; I did basically no writing last week due to drawing inspiration coming out of nowhere lol. Anyway, here's chapter 22! Next chapter, we'll see the return of a certain redhead....bwahaha~


	23. 23

Upon waking, Thora had told Gothi everything she learned from Freyr. Though he had warned them of the coming trouble, they were still left with an anxious feeling. He hadn’t let Thora know how _soon_ the trouble was to arrive. Nor had he been clear about the coming ‘monster’ -Though she had been positive Freyr meant a dragon, Gothi reminded Thora that Berk still had plenty of _human_ enemies in the archipelago.

Three tribes, in particular, had proven to be perilous enemies in the past. There was the Hysteric tribe, from the aptly named Isle of Hysteria. There was also the Murderous tribe who, like the name suggested, were fond of bloodshed and enjoyed slowly torturing their enemies (and their slaves) to death. Both of these tribes could prove to be just as dangerous -if not more so- than the Berserkers.

But it was the Lava Lout tribe that made the people of Berk shudder in fear. Not much was known about them -even Gothi knew very little of them- but it was said that they could walk through lava without burning.

‘It doesn’t make sense, though,’ Thora thought, stirring the contents of a copper pot over the fire. It had been some weeks since she had spoken with the god, and all still seemed peaceful. ‘Freyr didn’t say _monsters_ -he said _monster_. One. Just one. Surely a tribe would be multiple monsters? And one of those three tribes would be old enemies, not _new_ enemies. It’s just not adding up!’

Tapping her spoon on the edge of the pot, she tucked it into her belt before spinning around on the stool. She pushed some hair over her shoulder before grabbing a parsnip. It was a bit flexible due to age, and so she drew forth a bit of magic and reinvigorated the root before holding it with her tail. She made quick work of slicing the parsnip before adding it to the cauldron.

‘Whatever sort of trouble is coming,’ she thought, slicing up two more parsnips as well as some mushrooms, ‘we can’t stop it, so may as well make sure everyone’s well-fed and healthy in the meantime.’ Pulling her spoon from her belt once more, she stirred the stew together and tasting it. Surprised that it needed no further seasoning, she chuckled to herself.

“Now, those’ll soften up while I take this t’ da’ an’ Snotlout,” she murmured, setting the lid on the pot. Standing up, she threw on her bear-skin cloak before wrapping a cloth around the cauldron handle and lifting it from its hook.

Outside, a thin layer of frost covered the ground and her breath hung in the air as small clouds. She was careful as she walked, not wanting to slip and have the stew fly everywhere. Her brow rose as she watched a small, brow blur fly across the sky in the distance only to be caught by a much larger streak of red.

‘Still testing the catapults?’ she thought. ‘I thought Snotlout was supposed to have that done by now?’

“Aw man, I thought Hookfang was really going to let him fall into the cart this time!”

“Yeah, he’s been cutting it real close with his catches. Either we need to be quieter or we need to give Hookfang more fish before Snotlout goes on catapult duty.”

“Maybe we can ask Thora for some sleeping potion? Say one of us is having trouble sleeping?”

“Ooh, that may work…”

“Except I’m standin’ right behind ya an’ heard every word ya just said.” Thora wore an amused grin as the twins spun around, their eyes wide as they looked up in surprise. “Tryin’ t’ kill Snotlout again?”

Matching looks of mischief came to their faces as they tried to ‘innocently’ look away. “Not _kill_ him,” Ruffnut chirped. “If we killed him, then what fun would that be?”

“I don’t know,” Tuffnut grinned, “I think watching him squirm around in pain would be kinda fun.” He flinched and rubbed his arm as Ruffnut punched him.

“I was _trying_ to be sweet and innocent,” she pouted.

Rolling her eyes, Thora shook her head with a laugh. “You? _Innocent_? Please.”

Ruffnut shrugged, grinning once more. “It was worth a shot. So, what do have in the pot there?”

Tuffnut leaned in close and slightly lifted the lid, sniffing its contents. “It’s some sort of stew…I definitely smell carrots and yak. Hm. A bit of pepper, as well. Ooh, did you use wine?”

Using her tail, she gently pushed the lid out of his grip, closing the pot once more. “Aye, I did,” she answered. “It’s a simple vegetable an’ yak stew I made for da’ an’ Snotlout. I figured they could use a nice, warm meal on a day like today.”

“Can we have some?” Ruffnut asked, putting on her version of a sweet smile. “Mom’s helpin’ Not-So-Silent Sven’s wife on the farm today, so we haven’t had lunch yet.”

“And dad’s out fishing with Mulch,” Tuffnut added. “Not that dad can really cook. I mean, he makes a mean salted bass, but other than that? He’s kind of hopeless in the kitchen.”

Thora chuckled, rolling her eyes once more. “If there’s any left after da’ an’ Snotlout get through with it, then I’ll be sure t’ let the two o’ ya have some. How does that sound?”

“Yeah!” They high-fived each other.

“That should give us plenty of time to go out and scare dad and Mulch!” Ruffnut cackled. She stopped mid-laugh and looked away, hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “I mean, ah…go say hi to dad and Mulch!”

Thora thwacked them both upside the head with her tail before walking past them. “You two are hopeless,” she laughed. “Go enjoy your mischief; I’m sure Loki’s quite proud o’ the work you’re doin’ today.” Though she had her back to them, she knew they were grinned broadly -they always did whenever she let them get away with something.

It wasn’t too much longer until she reached the forge. She was more than a little surprised to find Gobber sitting on a stool, fiddling with one of his attachments. Snotlout was outside, a hammer in hand as he adjusted something on the catapult. He glanced up as Thora approached, his brow rising slightly when he saw her carrying the cauldron.

“What’s in that?” he asked, setting down the hammer.

“Yours an’ dad’s lunch,” she replied. “Vegetable-yak stew.”

His eyes lit up and an excited smile came to his face. “Vegetable-yak stew!? That’s my favorite!” Darting over, he took the cauldron from her and started to hurrying into the forge. He suddenly stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Uh…Thanks, by the way. It’s really nice of you to bring us food.” Before Thora had the chance to reply, he ducked into the building.

Thora blinked, rather taken aback by Snotlout’s thankfulness. “Er…you’re welcome?” she murmured, delayed by her shock. Shaking her head, she ducked under the roof and went to see what her father was doing. “Did a spring come loose?” she asked, leaning over and resting her chin atop his shoulder.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m thinkin’ it’s just time t’ make myself a new stump. This one’s gettin’ fairly worn down. Even with the springs, the attachments are becomin’ wobbly.”

She frowned. “That’s not good. We can’t have one o’ your hammers come flyin’ off when you’re workin’ on a sword or ax.”

“Aye…An’ this time, I think I’ll make it out o’ oak. That should last a wee bit longer than this yew.” He chuckled, scratching his beard before glancing up at his daughter. “Y’know, my offer still stands. ‘Bout the arm.”

“I know it does,” she smiled, “but I’m still goin’ t’ decline. It’d just be a useless decoration.”

A sigh of defeat left his mouth. “Ah, well…can’t say I didn’t try.” Standing up, he brushed some wood and metal shavings from his stomach. “So, I heard ya brought stew? What’s the occasion?”

She shrugged, moving to take his place on the stool; her back was starting to hurt from having to duck. “I just thought two o’ Berk’s hardest workers could use a warm, hearty meal.”

Half of Gobber’s brow rose and he grinned knowingly. “Ya threw in one o’ your potions, didn’t you?” he teased.

A look of feigned hurt came to Thora’s face. “Now why in Midgard would I go an’ do a silly thing like that?” she gasped. She then cracked up, knowing her acting had been bad. “O’ course I did. I didn’t want the two o’ ya t’ freeze your arses off out here!”

Snotlout came out, holding two, large steaming bowls of stew. He watched as Gobber grabbed his spoon attachment, putting it in his stump. “What did you do to what now?” he asked, handing one of the bowls off to him. He then hopped up on a counter and shoveled a steaming spoonful of stew into his mouth, not caring about its temperature.

“I poisoned the stew.”

His eyes widened in terror; he had just swallowed the first bite.

“I’m jokin’,” she snickered. “I threw in some potion t’ help keep the two o’ ya warm.” She pushed a braid over her shoulder. “I’m a healer, remember? It’s my job t’ keep people _alive_.”

He let out a nervous laugh as he glanced between her and the stew. “Hah…right. Alive. Yeah, that’s a good thing…” He bit his lip before warily taking another bite of the stew.

Gobber, however, was happily stuffing his gob with the food. “You’ve become a better cook, lovey,” he said, a bit of stew dribbling down his chin. “Or maybe that’s just the potion makin’ it taste extra scrumptious?”

“You can blame Kelda, the dwarven baker I told ya ‘bout. She gave me some cookin’ lessons in return for helpin’ her an’ Aphrodisios with their daughter.” She chuckled, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Truth be told, though, the potion tastes like crap. There is a lot o’ potent herbs an’ roots in it -not t’ mention, it’s brewed in beer…”

“Sounds more like a mulled wine than a potion,” Snotlout commented. “Y’know, except the fact that it’s brewed in beer.” He shrugged, spooning more stew into his mouth.

Thora was more than a little surprised by how civil Snotlout was being towards her only to realize it was probably because he was working for her dad. “I do know a few potions that need mulled wine,” she commented. “But, er…they’re not ones that’d be brewed too often.”

“Why’s that?” Gobber asked. Using his spoon, he pushed the rounds of parsnip to the side of his bowl, digging around for the chunks of yak meat. “Are they dangerous ones that should only be used durin’ battle?”

She glanced away, biting her tongue. “Er…not _exactly_ …” Her brow rose; she could hear someone running towards the forge.

Snotlout opened his mouth to further question her about it when he suddenly rolled his eyes. “Great. What do _those_ mutton-heads want?”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut came darting from behind the edge of the forge, both wearing looks of worry.

“Thora…Trader Johann…needs help…” Tuffnut panted, leaning against the wall for support.

“At…At Hiccup’s,” Ruffnut added, doubled over as she tried to catch her breath. She groaned, feeling a painful stitch growing in her side.

Thora’s eyes shot open. “What happened!?” she cried, jumping to her feet. She instantly regretted it: There was a loud thud as she thwacked her head on the ceiling. Squeezing her eyes shut, she grabbed her head.

“Whoa, that shook the whole building…” Snotlout murmured, eyes wide.

“Lovey!” gasped Gobber. “Are ya alright!?”

Thora ignored her dad. “What-happened-to- _Johann_?” she hissed through clenched teeth. Tears stung her eyes, but the pain in her head stung more.

“We found him…in the ocean,” Ruffnut wheezed. “Get going…We’ll be…we’ll be…”

“We’ll be there soon,” Tuffnut finished for her.

Her teeth still clenched in pain, Thora nodded and hurried past them. As she ran through the village, she looked at her hand, thankful to find no blood. The top of her head throbbed, though she did her best to ignore the pain.

‘How did Johann end up in the ocean?’ she thought, biting her tongue. ‘Did his ship capsize? Was he attacked by someone or something?’

Reaching Hiccup and Stoick’s house, she didn’t bother knocking and hurried in -making sure to duck. “Where is he?” she demanded.

“Over here,” Stoick answered from near the hearth. “I’ve got him by the fire t’ try an’ warm him up.”

“The twins said they found him in the ocean.” She knelt down beside Johann, who was unconscious. His body, however, was shivering violently and his skin was almost as cold as ice. “Uncle Stoick, help me get his wet clothes off. Hiccup, I need you an’ Toothless t’ do me a favor.”

“Anything,” Hiccup answered.

“Run t’ my house an’ get my satchel. I’ll also need the green bottle from the table,” she instructed, using her tail to help her with removing Johann’s shoes.

“Got it. Be back in a minute.”

Thora ran a hand over her head, wincing. By now, Stoick had removed Johann’s tunic and undershirt and she could see that he had no injuries -visible ones, at least. She started to gently feel along his arms, ribs, and stomach, seeking out any possible broken bones or internal damage.

“Nothin’ wrong up here,” she murmured. After Stoick removed Johann’s trousers, she felt along his legs for any breaks. She found none, but his calf muscles were unusually tense. “Do ya know how long he was in the water for?”

Shaking his head, Stoick got up and fetched a blanket. He covered the merchant with it before letting out a heavy sigh. “No, but by his state, I’d wager it was a few hours at the most.” He knelt down on the other side of the hearth, adding another piece of wood to the fire and shoveling some coals closer to Johann.

Thora nodded in agreement. “We’re lucky he’s not dead, t’ be honest. With winter comin’, most folk would have frozen t’ death in that time.” A sigh left her mouth and she closed her eyes for a moment. “He doesn’t have any injuries that I can find, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in the clear yet.”

“But…you _can_ save him, aye?” Stoick questioned, glancing at her.

Biting her tongue, she looked down at Johann. His lips were tinged blue and his skin was almost deathly white. Despite his appearance, he was still breathing and he had grunted when she had pressed on his stomach.

“I’m hopin’ I can,” she answered. “Once Hiccup gets back with my things, I’ll have a more definite answer for ya.”

Almost as if on cue, Hiccup came running back in, Thora’s bag slung over his shoulder and the bottle in hand. The latter item he held out to her, watching as she used her tail to lift Johann’s head and used her teeth to uncork the bottle.

“What is that stuff?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“A potion o’ warmth,” she answered, easing a bit of the liquid into Johann’s mouth. At first, it dribbled across his lips and into his beard, but when it started flowing over his tongue, he started to swallow it. “It’ll warm his insides, which should help with warmin’ his outsides.” After helping the merchant drink at least two mouthfuls of potion, she rested his head back down.

With a quiet grunt, Hiccup slid her satchel from his shoulder, handing it to her. “What do you have in that thing? It weighs as much as a sheep!”

“You’d be surprise,” she replied with a chuckle. Opening the flap, she dug around for a moment before pulling out a small, wooden box. With some effort, she managed to open it with her one hand, and the room was slowly filled by the warm, comforting scent of mint. She took a small amount of the paste from within the box and, using her tail to move aside the blanket, began rubbing it into Johann’s legs.

Stoick’s brow rose. “What’s that for?” He was impressed; his niece had certainly grown more confident in her healing abilities since she had left.

“T’ help ease his muscles,” she explained, doing her best to rub the mixture thoroughly into his skin. “They’re really tense -probably from treadin’ water for so long.” Getting a bit more of the salve, she started to work on his other leg. “With luck, this’ll help his muscles ease up a bit an’ he’ll have less pain when he wakes up.”

He nodded in understanding. “Good idea. Ah! He’s gettin’ some color back already!” He pointed to Johann’s cheeks, which were slowly beginning to turn a healthy shade of pink. “That’s a good sign.”

“He’ll probably be out for a few hours -at _least_ ,” Thora sighed. She wiped her hand on her trousers before closing the box and sliding it into her bag. Leaning forward, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Another, quieter sigh left her mouth; he was _much_ warmer than even ten minutes ago. “How did he end up in the ocean? Do ya know?”

Hiccup and Stoick frowned, looking at one another. The younger nodded at his father before moving to deal with Johann’s wet clothes. Scooping them up, he went to go wring them out outside.

“Dagur,” said Stoick. He watched as Thora’s eyes shot open and her jaw fell slack. “He escaped from the Outcast prison an’ stole Johann’s boat. He’s intent on gettin’ his revenge on Hiccup.” He thoughtfully scratched his beard, his eyes closing. “We don’t know much more than that, though.”

Thora managed to close her mouth, though her eyes remained wide-open. ‘The monster isn’t a dragon or a rival tribe,’ she thought, her gaze falling to the fire’s burning logs. Biting her tongue, she ran her hand over her hair, her mind racing. ‘It’s _Dagur_. Dagur’s the monster. I _knew_ Freyr didn’t mean an entire tribe--but…but why did it have to be _Dagur_?!’

She could taste a bit of blood oozing from her tongue; she hadn’t realized she had been biting so hard. ‘So, if Dagur is the monster, who is the new enemy? Surely it’s not the rest of his tribe -those are old enemies. The Outcasts? No. They’re allies now, I think. Unless they’re the reason he managed to escape…Ugh, why didn’t I ask Freyr more questions?!’

“Thora?”

She finally pulled her gaze from the fire, finding that Hiccup was kneeling beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry on his face. “You look… _scared_.”

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her face. “This is why I came back,” she admitted, “not because I had lost most o’ my magic, but because everythin’ was tellin’ me that trouble was comin’ t’ Berk.” She heard the sound of displeasure made by her uncle and she felt guilty; she knew she should have told them outright, but what if the castings had been false? “A few weeks ago, Gothi an’ I consulted each other on the matter. Upon findin’ out…well, not much, t’ be honest, we decided t’ try askin’ the gods for information.”

“And you were told a monster was comin’ back t’ Berk,” Stoick spoke, his voice quiet, but full of concern. “She told me that you were also instructed on how t’ _defeat_ the monster. Well, now that we know it’s Dagur, tell me., Thora: How do we defeat him?”

She bit her tongue once again, forcing herself to look her uncle in the eye. “I wasn’t told how t’ defeat him,” she corrected. “I was told how t’ _tame_ him.”

“Tame him? You can’t tame a _human_ , Thora,” Stoick scowled. “Let alone Dagur the _Deranged_! He isn’t some dragon you can befriend and pal around with!”

Hiccup glanced between the two of them; he knew Thora was trying to come up with some rebuttal, but his father was more than a little intimidating. “Well, I mean, she was told this by the _gods_ ,” he said after a few minutes. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced away. “So, ah…I don’t know if we should just throw their advice aside.”

Stoick pinched his brows, a noise of irritation coming from his throat. “Alright then. How do we… _tame_ Dagur?” he grumbled.

“I was told it’ll take three things,” Thora sighed. “Patience, kindness, and…love.”

Both Hiccup and Stoick stared at her, not at all impressed by her words.

“Oh, don’t give me that!” she pouted. “It doesn’t necessarily mean _romantic_ love -there are all sorts o’ love! Love between families, love between friends, love between a dragon and its rider...” She ran her hand over her hair and glanced away. “Freyr wasn’t very specific-”

“ _Freyr_?” Stoick scoffed. “It was _Freyr_ who told you all this?”

Thora nodded.

“Well, o’ _course_ he’s going to tell you how t’ make peace with Dagur -He’s the god o’ love and _peace_!” Stoick leaned back in his chair, pinching his brows once again. With his eyes shut, he didn’t the looks of confusion exchanged between the two teens. “Not t’ insult Freyr, but he’s a lover, _not_ a fighter. This isn’t the time for peaceful negotiating. Dagur is extremely dangerous and if he’s bent on revenge, there’s no tellin’ what he may do.”

Thora frowned. “But, Uncle—”

“No buts, Thora. The only way we’re goin’ to be rid o’ Dagur once and for all is by sendin’ him to Niflheim.”

“Uncle, if Oswald the _Antagonistic_ can become Oswald the _Agreeable_ , then I’m convinced that Dagur can change as well!” she snapped, startling Hiccup. “Not only that, but even if he is a god o’ love an’ peace, Freyr is still a _god_ -an’ isn’t peace what we want above all else?!”

“Dagur is _nothing_ like his father!” Stoick bellowed, jumping to his feet. Hiccup instinctively backed away from him; he knew better than to be in his father’s path when he was this upset. “Oswald came to see the errors of his ways early on -Dagur, though? Dagur _lives_ for bloodshed, Thora! He’s a monster who needs t’ be taken out before he can cause further harm to our people!” He glared down at Thora, his jaw set in determination.

Unluckily for him, Thora mirrored his expression. “I hate Dagur as much as anyone else on Berk,” she said. Though her voice was calm, there was a strange weight to it -Stoick knew she wasn’t going to back down. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m goin’ t’ ignore what Freyr told me in favor o’ killin’ him.”

Stoick returned to his seat, landing in it with a lack of grace and regality. “Why, though? _Why_ are ya so bent on helpin’ him, Thora?” he sighed, his voice softer now. “You know, firsthand, the kind o’ trouble he’s caused in the past! If what Johann said about him is true -that’s he’s even more berserk now than he was then-, then what’s the point?”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look Stoick in the eye once again. “Because, Uncle—” She inhaled shakily, trying to steel herself for what she was about to tell him. “Because when Alvin the Treacherous was about t’ behead me, Dagur saved my life.”

He stared at her. Neither she nor Hiccup had told him that Alvin had tried to _kill_ her. Maybe she was lying in an attempt to get him to give in? No, he thought. Thora wasn’t like that.

“Alvin tried to kill you?”

“An’ Dagur made him spare me,” she replied with a nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

She shrugged. “T’ be honest, I was more worried ‘bout gettin’ t’ the mainland than anythin’ else at the time.” She pushed a braid over her shoulder before digging through her bag; her head was beginning to ache and the throbbing atop her skull did little to help. “So, because Dagur saved my life, I have t’ at least _try_ t’ save his. I know, he’s our enemy, but…If he _did_ change, think about how powerful o’ an ally we’d have!” She pulled a clay jar from her bag. Holding it between her thighs, she twisted the cork from it before taking a drink of its contents. It burnt as it slid down her throat.

Stoick rubbed his forehead, thinking over her words. Having Dagur around meant trouble, and as a chieftain, he didn’t want to put his people in harm’s way. As a father, he didn’t want to put his son in harm’s way. It was hard for him to trust the gods -after everything he had endured through life, he was wary of them. They had already claimed so many members of his family…

Hiccup abruptly spoke, making both Stoick and Thora realize he was still present. “Thora, what if it doesn’t work? What if Freyr was wrong and Dagur can’t change?” he asked. “What’re we supposed to do then?”

“Then…Then, I guess, we get rid of him,” she replied, defeat in her tone. She corked the jar, sticking it back in her bag. “If tryin’ t’ become allies with him fails, then we’ll have no choice.”

“And do you have any ideas about _how_ we’re supposed t’ become allies with him?” Stoick added. “Need I remind you that he wants my son an’ his dragon dead?”

Biting her tongue, Thora glanced away. She said nothing.

Leaning forward in his seat, Stoick cocked a brow. “You’ve no ideas on how we’re supposed to get him t’ come to our side, yet you’re over there, advocatin’ for us to spare him?” He shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh as he stood. “Thora, you’ve learned a lot while you were away, but you still have much t’ learn about the world. Not everythin’ can have a happy ending like the fairy tales.” He started to walk towards the door, intending to leave -but he paused in the doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the two teens. “Go ahead an’ try to make him see reason,” he told them, “but if it fails, don’t say I didn’t warn you. And if he comes anywhere near Berk, I _will_ kill him.”

A quaking breath left Thora’s mouth as Stoick closed the door behind him. She allowed herself to flop backwards on the floor, her hand covering her face. Hiccup sat beside her, letting his back rest against the wall as he breathed out a heavy sigh. He glanced down at his cousin, concerned.

“Are you alright?”

“How does Gothi do this?” Parting her index and middle fingers, she looked up at Hiccup. “How is she able t’ make even the most stubborn people listen to her?”

He shrugged, but wore a reassuring smile. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but you managed it.” Running a hand through his head, he let his head fall back against the wall.

“Just barely.”

“Hey, that’s still pretty good. I mean, this is my _dad_ we’re talking about. You know how stubborn he can be. It took me losing my leg just to prove to him that dragons are our friends.”

“What am I goin’ t’ do, though? I…I thought the monster Freyr told me about was goin’ t’ be a dragon, not a human -not _Dagur_.”

He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. He looked down at Thora again, finding her face full of weariness and uncertainty. Reaching over, he took her hand and gave it a small squeeze.

“Whatever you do, I’ve got your back,” he told her. “I would much rather have a not-too-sane ally than a dead enemy and the wrath of his whole tribe.”

A small smile came to her lips and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze in return. “Have I ever told ya you’re my favorite demi-cousin?” she quietly joked.

He smiled as well, teasingly rolling his eyes. “I’m you’re _only_ demi-cousin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Looks like Thora's in a pickle. 
> 
> I know I said Dagur was going to return this chapter, and I had intended to make him show up, buuuuuut I found the final scene to work better as a chapter end than a chapter middle. Plus, it gives me an excuse to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with the plot, because, like Thora, I don't know what I'm going to do at this point! xD I've got three different plots I could use, but I honestly don't like any of them. So. Um. Yeah, I'm also in a pickle. Whoops.


	24. 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a chapter I've been both hesitant and excited to write for a while. Not only does Dagur make an appearance, but I finally got the chance to reveal something about one of the side characters we met waaay earlier in the story. I really hope I did the latter scene justice and I pray it doesn't offend anyone. I almost scrapped it because I was unsure how people would react, but it's honestly something I've had planned for awhile and the current time in the fanfic seems like the only chance I'll have to write it. 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you to everyone who has left me comments <3 I really enjoy reading them and getting to see what I'm doing right so I can keep it up~

The waves were calm today. They rolled onto the beach, pushing and pulling at the pebbles before rolling back out. Being low tide, crabs wandered about in search of food hidden between the rocks. Thora chuckled, watching as two males began to fight over the same piece of kelp only for it to be stolen by a smaller, less feisty female.

Above her, she heard the sound of wingbeats and she looked up in time to see Hiccup and the other riders flying away from Berk. They were flying towards the eternal fogbank to the west of the island, where they suspected Dagur to be heading.

‘May the gods grant you speed and safety,’ she silently prayed, watching as the five dragons soon became nothing more than mere specks among the clouds. Part of her wanted to go with them, but the more rational part of her reminded her that, at best, she would only slow them down. ‘I already have Freya upset with me. No need to get her _pissed_ at me…’

Stretching her legs out, she let out a soft sigh and tilted her head back. The saltiness of the ocean breeze was refreshing, albeit cold. As she deeply inhaled the scent of her home, she pulled her cloak closer to her body.

A new sound joined the rolling waves: Someone was walking towards her. Her brow rose and she peeked over her shoulder only to find Trader Johann walking towards her. He looked much better than he did yesterday, though he still had a tired look about him. Thora noticed he was wearing his usual clothes, but the cloak he wore was much too big for him -borrowed from Stoick, more than likely.

He smiled when he realized she had noticed him. “Ah, Mistress Thora! Just the woman I was looking for.” Sitting down beside her, he let out a content sigh and looked out at the ocean. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve always loved the way the ocean looks in near-winter. The way the water blends in almost perfectly with the sky and how the waves leave small, frosty trails on the beach…”

“I hadn’t thought o’ it like that, t’ be honest,” she replied. “I always thought winter made the ocean seem impossibly deep, like it could swallow ya whole if ya so much as dip a toe into it.”

He chuckled. “I could see how you could think such a thing.” He pulled his legs up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wanted to thank you for tending to me.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job,” she told him, a hint of a grin on her lips.

“Regardless, thank you. No offense meant to Mistress Gothi, but I don’t think I would have been back on my feet in such a short amount of time if she had been the one tending to me.” He adjusted his cap as the wind tried to lift it from his head. “I must admit, though, I hadn’t expected to find you on Berk so soon. …I can’t say I blame you for leaving Enda Fjarðarins early, however.” From the corner of his eye, he watched as her hand rose, clasping something under her cloak -the ring from Cæna, no doubt.

“I…” She let out a heavy sigh, the metal of the ring quickly growing warm in her palm. “I got some troubling castings when I read the runes. They told me trouble was comin’ t’ Berk, so I thought it best t’ come home in case my help was needed.”

He nodded in understanding. “I suppose that trouble turned out to be Dagur’s escape?”

“Aye.” Letting go of the ring, she bit her tongue and ran her hand over her hair. “But—but it did hurt. Bein’ in Enda Fjarðarins without him, especially now that I knew he was goin’ t’ propose…” Closing her eyes, she fell silent in her attempt to calm herself.

Johann started to reach out to her, but stopped halfway when he thought better of it. “Do you…Do you believe there’s a chance he’s—that he may, possibly, not have…?”

“O’ course,” she admitted quietly. “Despite everythin’ pointin’ t’ the contrary, part of me still believes he’s out there, alive…but why he hasn’t come back, I couldn’t guess.”

“I have the same belief,” he said, voice just barely audible over the wind and waves. “But, then again, we are the two people who loved him most in Midgard. Whether it is our grief fueling our denial or a true, gut feeling…only the gods know.”

 

* * *

 

 

The riders returned the next morning without victory. Dagur had managed to escape with Johann’s gold, but the riders, at least, managed to return unscathed and with a single piece of treasure: A strange, cylindrical object Hiccup had named the Dragon Eye. What it did, he had no idea, but he knew it was more than a little important; he had found it surrounded by booby-traps on a ship called _The Reaper_.

“An’ you’re not sure what it’s for?” Thora asked, brows furrowed as she watched Gobber attempt to unlock its secrets.

“Not a clue,” Hiccup replied. “But, there’s a keyhole, so that means it can be opened.” He ran a hand through his hair, also watching Gobber. “What the Dragon Eye does, though…”

Tuffnut, who was leaning against the wall, cocked a brow. “Uh, how do you know it’s called the Dragon Eye?”

“Because I named it.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Snotlout snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to vote on these things?”

Hiccup, too, rolled his eyes, though he did it in annoyance. “Fine. All in favor, say ‘Dragon Eye’.”

There was a resounding chorus of ‘Dragon Eye’ from everyone present, save Snotlout.

Glancing away with a pout, Snotlout huffed. “Just wanted to make sure we all agreed on it…”

Gobber grunted, trying to twist the cylinder around. “Stubborn thing, that’s what this is!” he grumbled under his breath.

“ _Can_ you open it, Gobber?” Astrid asked, brow rising.

He looked up, a mixture of shock and insult on his face before he laughed. “ _Can I open it?_ I once opened a five-hundred-year-old clam at the bottom o’ the ocean with my bare _hook_ ,” he retorted, twisting the Dragon Eye once more. “Can _I_ open it—” His brow rose in the middle as the Dragon Eye began making a clicking sound. Seconds later, a small, feathered dart shot out of the end of the cylinder. It flew into Tuffnut’s chest, taking everyone by surprise.

“Huh? What is _that_?” Tuffnut snickered. “Looks like a-” He suddenly fell forward, making Ruffnut laugh and Thora yelp.

Being wary of the ceiling, Thora hurried over. She used her tail to lift Tuffnut off the ground and pulled the dart from his chest. Inspecting it, she looked for any signs of the type of poison it may have had, but it had none. Scrunching her nose up, she flicked her tongue against the point of the dart before spitting.

“Nocturnal Nightcrawler gel,” she mumbled, though no one paid attention to her.

“Huh…Well, that was…something?” Gobber blinked before shrugging. “Maybe if I just…” He started to mess with the Dragon Eye again.

A few seconds later, Tuffnut woke up. “It’s alright -I’m alright! I got hit with something but now-”

A green cloud suddenly filled the air around him, Thora, and Ruffnut. Instinctively, Thora and Ruffnut covered their mouths and noses. Tuffnut, though…he sniffed the air, intrigued.

“Nope, scratch that.” He fell to the ground, curled up in a ball as he started twitching violently from the mixture of gas and poison.

“Oh gods,” Thora groaned, the gas dissipating. “Get him t’ Gothi. She’ll have somethin’ that’ll help him. I’m not sure ‘bout the gas, but the dart had Nocturnal Nightcrawler gel on it, so let her know that.”

Ruffnut frowned, sliding off the counter as she watched Thora head over to the display of Gobber’s finished weapons and shields. “What do you mean? You’re right here! _You_ help him!”

“She can’t,” Gobber sighed, hoisting Tuffnut up by the belt. “She’s out o’ herbs, so she’s goin’ t’ Healer’s Island.”

“Then why is she grabbing a shield, huh?” Ruffnut questioned, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Just because she’s going to Healer’s Island, doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be prepared for some sort of attack,” Astrid told her. “Especially with Dagur out there. Who knows where he’s headed?”

Thora raised her brow. “Er…actually, it’s more or less because I need a glorified cuttin’ board,” she admitted. “But, er, if I _do_ run into trouble, it’ll be a handy thing t’ have!”

Astrid frowned. “Wait, you _hadn’t_ thought about potentially being attacked?”

“I have, but er…” She looked at her shoulder. “Even if I wasn’t tryin’ my best t’ live a _peaceful_ life, I’d be a wee bit useless in a fight, don’t ya think?” She shrugged, chuckling. “Now, seriously: Get Tuff t’ Gothi. Even if I had my herbs stocked up, I wouldn’t be able t’ help him, because the antidote takes a while t’ make.” Carrying the shield with her tail, she started to push Gobber out of the smithy.

Once the group started to walk off, she let out a sigh of relief. Going over to Death Dance, she patted the dragon’s nose, smirking mischievously.

“Ready t’ go, girl?” she questioned.

Death Dance made a purring sound, waiting for Thora to climb on her back. Standing, she stretched out her wings and flapped them a few times before taking into the air. She started flying east, towards Healer’s Island. But once they were out of sight of Berk, Thora tugged on the reins, directing her to go south.

Truth be told, Thora had no intention of going to Healer’s Island; she had plenty of herbs and roots left at her disposal. Even if she did have a real need for them, she knew Gothi would be more than willing to part with some of her supply.

Instead, they were going to Berserk.

Thanks to Johann, she knew that Dagur would be returning to his home in order to reclaim his throne and gather his armada. With the gold he stole from Johann, he would then by himself some powerful allies, as well as the supplies he’d need to wage war on Berk once more. What she _didn’t_ know, though, was how quickly he planned to do all this.

But she was going to find out.

 

The flight to Berserk took little over an hour and a half. During that time, Thora had come up with at least a dozen different plans about how she and Death Dance would sneak onto the island and do their spying. Every single one, though, was quickly shot down by the realization that she was no longer able to shapeshift.

“Death, d’ya have any ideas?” she called.

Death Dance chirped, lowering her altitude a few yards. She then made a growling sound: Berserk was in sight.

Seeing the island as well, Thora frowned. “Hm. That sounds like it’ll work. Good thing today’s cloudy, huh?” She patted the side of Death’s neck. “Your underside should be blendin’ in quite nicely with the sky. An’ even if it isn’t, we’re so high up, if anyone spots us, they’ll think we’re just a bird!” She quietly laughed to herself.

Death Dance narrowed her eyes, observing the island. She knew what they were doing was dangerous and, as such, she had no intention of messing things up. From what she could see, the island was inhabited along its northern shores, where there was a large bay. This village was at least three times the size of Berk and she could see dozens of ships moored in the bay.

Thora could see how the Berserkers managed to have so many ships: The rest of the island was mountainous and blanketed by forests. The eastern half of the island seemed to be made up of mostly new growth, deciduous forests. The western half, though, was mostly old growth with nary a deciduous tree in sight. Her brow rose; she wouldn’t have thought the Berserkers to be skilled woodsmen.

At least it would be easy for them to find cover, she thought. As for finding a decent spot to land, though…?

She was directly over the island when Death Dance spotted a place: About two miles outside the Berserker village, there was a small clearing. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet wide. Approaching it, though, would be tricky: She was a large dragon and, as such, would have to approach from a low angle to avoid being seen by the Berserkers.

“You can do it, girl,” Thora told her, as if able to read her thoughts.

Death Dance flew nearly a mile away from the island’s southern shores before circling around. She began lowering her altitude, feeling Thora lean in closer to her neck. Snorting out a puff of smoke, the Boneknapper tilted her wings forward, making her descend even faster. Second by second, the treetops were growing closer until she could reach down and thwack them with her tail.

It was at that point she abruptly slowed herself, not wanting to glide too far. After that, it was a matter of finding the clearing again. It took her a few minutes, as they were in unfamiliar territory, but she was able to locate the area and landed.

“Good girl,” Thora quietly told her after dismounting. “Now, stay here, alright? You’re a wee bit _too_ big t’ be travelin’ through woods this thick.”

Making a worried noise, the dragon gently nuzzled her rider.

“I’ll be fine,” Thora promised, resting her forehead against Death’s horn. “Ya know me: I’m more at home in the forest than the trees are!” Grinning cheekily, she adjusted the shield on her back. “Now stay low. If ya hear someone comin’ who _isn’t_ me…er. Play dead, I guess? Or fly away.”

Rolling her eyes, Death Dance nuzzled her once more. She followed her rider to the edge of the trees before laying down, doing her best to curl up as small as possible. It was a hard feat to accomplish, but once she folded her wings over herself and brought her tail around, she managed to look like nothing more than a pile of bones.

‘This will be easy,’ Thora thought, beginning to walk into the forest. There was no road for her to follow and she found herself thankful for that. ‘No roads mean less of a chance of running into someone.’ Pulling her hood up, she let out a quiet sigh.

As she walked, she looked around at the trees. They were a different sort than the kind found on Berk, but she recognized many of them from her time on the mainland. The trees growing here liked wet soil that didn’t drain well. At the same time, though, she noticed a few, smaller trees that preferred soil like that of Berk -thicker and more clay based.

‘Guess our trees are as stubborn as us,’ she thought with a small grin. Her brows then furrowed and she knelt down, running her fingers across the earth. ‘This ground isn’t good for growing food or for finding roots.’ Standing upright, she began walking once more. ‘Maybe the other side of the island has soil better suited for farming? It has to; the trees over there have totally different requirements for growing than these ones…’

Finding a deer path that led north, she started to follow it. She took care to avoid stepping on any twigs or branches. Her cloak she didn’t have to worry about; Sindri had put an enchantment on it so that it would never get caught on something.

Her eyes suddenly lit up and a broad grin spread across her face. “Aha!” she whispered, glancing up at her hood. ‘Why didn’t I think of this sooner? If I hear someone coming, I can pretend to be a bear!’ Her cloak, after all, _was_ a bear pelt.

A chill wind blew through the trees, making the branches above creak and the tree trunks groan. Pulling her cloak closer to herself, she stopped walking and closed her eyes. She listened to the wind, able to hear traces of the Berserker village on its breath: Hammers on anvils, axes on wood, bells on animals…

Much closer to her, however, she heard the faint sound of footsteps and a rope being drawn taut.

Opening her eyes, she found Dagur the Deranged standing no more than three yards from her, a loaded crossbow in his hands. He looked vastly different from the young chieftain she remembered. No longer was he short with a smooth jaw; he had grown at least half a foot and was sporting a patchy, fiery red beard. There was also a jagged, branching scar on the right side of his face and she found herself wondering how he got it.

“Long time no see, Thora,” he spoke, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Upon seeing her take a startled step back, he laughed and shouldered the crossbow. “Look at _you_! You’ve gotten quite a bit taller since I last saw you.”

“As have you,” she replied, warily eyeing the crossbow as she lowered her hood. “I like the beard. Suits you.” She hated that she wasn’t lying: She really _did_ think the beard was nice on him -at least, it would be when it fully grew in. In fact, she thought the last three years had been rather kind to him, appearance-wise.

He chuckled, brow rising as he stroked his chin. “Really? And here I was just thinking about shaving it off! Guess I won’t be doing _that_ anymore.” Leaning the crossbow against the tree, he walked towards her, holding out his arms. “C’mere and give me a hug, you gorgeous gift from Freya! This is the last place I’d expect to find _you_!”

Before Thora could step back, he lunged forward and hugged her tightly. “Er…had t’ make a stop while flying?” she grunted.

Dagur pulled back slightly, trying to look her over, but her cloak hid most of her body from view. “Odd that you would stop _here_ of all places,” he commented, brow rising. “After all, what with me being freshly escaped from jail and declaring war against Hiccup again…” He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Unless, of course, you’re _lying_ to me -which, may I add, you have a nasty habit of doing.”

She cocked a brow, doing her best to hide her surprise. “When did I ever lie to ya?” she questioned, managing to make her tone sound convincingly offended.

A curse left her mouth as Dagur suddenly grabbed the neck of her cloak, slamming her against the tree. Her shield dug into her shoulders, making her squirm in pain, but Dagur didn’t seem to care.

“When _haven’t_ you lied to me!?” he snarled, his eyes full of hurt and anger. “All those things you told me -how you wanted to be my wife, how you would secure alliances, how you _loved_ me—Did you honestly think I _wouldn’t_ figure it out?” He let out a chuckle, though there was no humor in the sound.

“Then why did I heal ya?” she asked quickly, somewhat tilting her head back. “Why did I take ya back t’ your fleet after ya got shocked by the Skrill?”

He frowned, but said nothing in reply.

“I could have left ya for dead,” she continued, swallowing hard. “It would have been easy. I was on my dragon. I could have flown away. But I _didn’t_ , did I? I took ya back t’ your fleet an’ I made sure t’ properly tend your wounds before I left.”

His eyes suddenly narrowed and he had to stand on his tiptoes to make himself look doubly intimidating. “We both know you’re not that kind of person,” he hissed. “We both know that, even if you _wanted_ to, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave me for dead. You’re too _soft_.” His eyes glanced at her throat for a split second -but it was long enough to make him freeze in surprise.

Just barely visible beneath the bear pelt, he saw the familiar beads of his grandmother’s necklace.

Thora watched as the anger in his eyes receded, being replaced by confusion. His grip loosened on her cloak, instead moving to gently pull the necklace out from under her clothes. For a long moment, he was silent as he ran his thumb over the warm glass.

“You…You still have this…?” His voice was quiet and, as he looked up at her, his face betrayed his bewilderment. “You really kept it?”

“O’ course,” she replied, voice soft. “It’s…it’s helped me through some hard times.”

His brows remained furrowed as his gaze returned to the necklace. He ran his fingers over the beads once more. It still looked beautiful on her, he thought, like it had been made just for her and no one else. He was glad she kept it, but it hurt knowing she didn’t wear it as an engagement gift.

Thora took a shaky breath, watching Dagur. She wanted to push him away and take off running, but with his crossbow so close at hand, she dared not risk it. She was fast, yes, but she couldn’t outrun such a weapon.

Her brow rose ever so slightly as an idea suddenly came to her. Glancing down, she could just barely see the crossbow resting against the tree. Biting her tongue, she slowly started to reach over with her tail.

Dagur frowned, catching sight of movement from the corner of his eye. Before he had the chance to see what was going on, though, Thora grabbed his hair, her mouth crashing against his. His eyes shot open in shock, but he didn’t resist. Instead, he clutched at her shoulders with both hands, kissing her in return.

It had been so long since either of them had felt another’s touch…

Thora wrapped her tail around the crossbow, doing her best to quietly pull it behind her, out of Dagur’s sight. Letting go of his hair, she continued to distract him with hungered kisses. One of his hands slid from her shoulders, sneaking its way down to her waist while the other cupped the back of her head.

A soft gasp left her mouth as he nipped her lower lip. He pulled her even closer to him as his tongue slipped past her lips, greedily exploring her mouth and drawing a moan from her throat. Thora hated how much she was enjoying this; he was her _enemy_!

But by gods, was he an excellent kisser.

Pulling her mouth from his, she began dragging her lips along his jaw, daring to nip his skin once every few kisses. Behind her, she eased the crossbow into her hand; she was careful as she unwrapped her tail, not wanting to accidentally set it off. Dagur grunted, tilting his head back to grant her better access to his throat as she started to kiss her way down it—

Thora suddenly stepped back, out of his embrace. He looked at her, confused, only to find her aiming the crossbow at him. There was a small smirk on her lips, but a hint guilt in her eyes and a flush to her cheeks.

“Sorry, Dagur,” she told him, slowly backing away. “Maybe we’ll catch up another time?”

Unable to stop himself, he grinned as he watched her run off. He was angry with her, of course, but he knew there had to have been half a dozen different ways she could have stolen his attention that _didn’t_ involve kissing him, let alone so _passionately_.

“Oh, we’ll catch up,” he murmured, still smirking. “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, ah…tell me again how ya came t’ possess a crossbow, lovey?”

Biting her tongue, Thora felt her cheeks beginning to grow warm. “Er, I found it on Healer’s Island, remember?” she told Gobber. “It must’ve been left there by a forgetful herb hunter.” She reached across the counter, grabbing some fresh mint leaves. When she had returned yesterday, she found out that Gobber had volunteered her to take over Gothi’s duties for the day while the old woman helped Hiccup and the riders with something.

“Why would someone bring a crossbow with ‘em to Healer’s Island?” questioned Thora’s first patient of the day, Magnus. He had come to her with his ankle stuck in a dragon trap; thankfully, his boot had taken the brunt of the damage. There had been no broken skin, but his ankle had been left swollen and bruised. “Isn’t it neutral territory?”

“It is, but it’s still better t’ be safe than sorry,” Gobber quipped, looking over the damage to Magnus’ boot. “Someone probably brought it with ‘em just in case they were attacked or in case they needed t’ spend a few nights there an’ needed something to hunt with.” The trap had left a couple of holes in the leather, but they would be easy enough for him stitch back together later.

Turning around on the stool, Thora held out a small, fragrant pouch to Magnus. “Here. When ya get home, I want ya t’ boil up some water with these herbs in it. Then let it cool to your desired temperature before soakin’ your foot in it, alright?”

Taking the pouch, he cocked a brow. “What’s it goin’ t’ do?” He also took his boot back from Gobber, wincing as he pulled it back on.

“It’ll help ease the swelling an’ help the bruise disappear faster as well. Your ankle _will_ be sore for a few days, but if it hurts for more than a week, come find me or Gothi,” she explained. “Oh, an’ the herbs smell good an’ help ya relax.”

Chuckling, Magnus nodded in understanding. “Alright. Thank ya, Miss Thora.” Turning, he started to hobble down the steps.

“One down,” Gobber chuckled, peering over the edge of the platform. The grin on his face disappeared as he saw the lineup of Hairy Hooligans below: Nearly half the village had to have been present! “Er…A whole village t’ go. Sheesh. Ya’d think everyone went an’ got injured or sick today just t’ test ya or something!” Scratching the top of his helmet, he shrugged. “Next!” he called down.

She cringed. ‘Is this Freya punishing me again?’ she thought. ‘No…Surely, she’d do something worse…’

The next patient came onto the platform and Thora found herself more than a little surprised: Linnea Mildewsdotter. Her cheeks were red and she was breathing a bit heavily from the climb, but she refused Gobber’s help as she came into the platform.

“What’s troublin’ ya, Linnea?” Thora asked, frowning as Linnea doubled over to catch her breath.

After a moment, Linnea stood up, shooting Gobber a glare. “I can’t tell ya. Not in front o’ him, at least,” she replied, brushing bits of wood and hay from her skirts.

At that, Gobber frowned. “Excuse me? I’m assistin’ her, so _yes_ , you can tell her-”

“ _Da’_.”

He blinked, looking at Thora. “Yes, lovey?”

“Let me handle it,” she told him, her voice gentle, but firm at the same time. She then looked at Linnea. “Would ya feel more comfortable in the hut?”

“Away from the eyes o’ prying men? Aye.”

Nodding in understanding, Thora rose to her feet and motioned for Linnea to enter the hut. She patted Gobber’s arm before ducking into Gothi’s house. Closing the door behind her, she let out a small sigh.

“So, er, what seems t’ be the problem?” she asked.

Linnea had her arms crossed as she looked over Gothi’s wall of jarred medicine. Even with her back to her, Thora could tell that she was embarrassed. “I need…Ah, that is to say…” She muttered a curse under her breath and rubbed her face. “I need fertility help,” she finally managed to say.

Thora blinked, but smiled reassuringly. “Alright, I can do that. Would ya rather an amulet or a potion? Amulets tend t’ have better results, but potions are more subtle if you don’t want the whole village t’ know.”

Linnea’s eyes widened slightly. “W-wait, you’re _not_ going t’ laugh at me or anything?”

“Er…should I?” She shrugged. “I mean, if ya want a child or two, that’s your own business, not mine. I’m just here t’ help people.”

Glancing away, she sighed, her arms still crossed. “I don’t suppose anyone’s told ya yet, then? Otherwise, you’d be laughin’ your head off.”

“…Told me _what_?” She raised her brow.

“I got married.”

“Congratulations!”

“To another _woman_.”

Thora’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” She bit her tongue, glancing away. “Er. Well, then, aye, I can see _why_ ya need help.”

Letting out a quiet curse, Linnea sighed and closed her eyes. “Ugh. Gods help me, I didn’t think I’d have t’ explain this t’ anyone besides Gothi and Svea…” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

Thora bit her tongue once more; it was all too obvious Linnea was having a difficult time. Reaching over, she set her hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” she said, voice quiet, “it’s alright, Linnea. If ya don’t feel comfortable tellin’ me, Gothi should be back tomorrow-”

Linnea shook her head. “No…No. You’re goin’ t’ be Gothi’s replacement when she eventually croaks, so you’ll _need_ t’ know this when that time comes. It’s just…” She sighed again, sitting down on a stool. “I’m not exactly a normal case.”

“When it comes t’ Vikings, hardly anythin’ can be considered ‘normal’,” she chuckled. “Try me.”

For a moment, she was silent, trying to come up with the best way to explain her predicament. When she finally spoke, her tone was full of awkwardness. “ _You_ know I’m a woman. _I_ know I’m a woman. _Everyone_ knows I’m a woman,” she began, “but my _body_ doesn’t know.” Glancing up at the younger woman, she watched her brows furrow somewhat in confusion. “Everything about me says I’m a woman _except_ for what’s between my legs. I don’t have a beard or a hairy chest like a man, I don’t have a deep voice like a man, but I have the _parts_ o’ a man.”

Thora nodded slowly, doing her best to understand what Linnea had just told her. “So…what you’re sayin’ is that your _body_ doesn’t match what you know ‘bout yourself?” she questioned, wanting to make sure she wasn’t misinterpreting.

“Aye. I was born into the wrong body. It says I’m a man, but I’m _not._ ” She crossed her arms, a mixture of stubbornness and distress written on her face.

“It happens sometimes. There are even times when a person is neither male or female, but still have the wrong body.” She ran her hand over her hair, giving Linnea a reassuring smile. “It’s not _terribly_ common, but I have met a few other folks like ya, though they were men born into women’s bodies.”

Linnea’s eyes suddenly shot open. “Wh-what?” she gasped. “There are really other people like…like me? I’m not alone?!”

“O’ course you’re not alone!” she chuckled. “I mean, aye, on _Berk_ ya might be -but in the whole o’ Midgard?”

She shook her head. “No, Thora, ya don’t understand,” she murmured, still quite in shock. “I honestly thought I was the _only_ person in the world like this. Especially in such a small place like Berk, it’s all too easy t’ forget that there isn’t more outside o’ the Archipelago.” She rubbed her face, surprised to find tears soaking her cheeks. “My whole life, I’ve thought I was a freak because I didn’t match my body. Hel’s Gate, my own dad practically disowned me for it!”

Thora frowned. “T’ be fair, Mildew thinks anyone who isn’t him is a freak,” she sighed. “But, no: You’re definitely _not_ alone in the world, Linnea.” She reached over, gently rubbing her back. “An’ I swear I won’t be tellin’ anyone about this. If ya want people t’ know, that’s _your_ choice, not someone else’s.”

A grateful look came to Linnea’s face. “Thank you.” She used her sleeve to wipe away some tears.

“Now, back to my original inquiry: Amulet or potion? An’ is it for both o’ ya or just one o’ ya?”

“I think a potion would be more discrete…an’ probably one for the both o’ us. We don’t know which o’ us is the problem.”

She nodded, beginning to gather up the individual ingredients. Outside, she could hear her father tending to the next couple of patients -thankfully, from the sounds of it, they only had mild ailments like a thorn in their foot or a dislocated finger. She mixed up the potions rather quickly -she had made them many times before for people in Enda Fjarðarins.

‘Linnea’s had it rough,’ she thought, twirling her finger above the wooden bowl. It didn’t take much for her to gather up the bit of magic she needed, bringing a smile to her lips. ‘A little magic will make sure these work…’ A hint of victory came to her eyes as she watched the potion faintly beginning to glow. As she pulled her finger away, the light faded away, though she knew the magic still lurked in the drink.

“Do you an’ Svea know when she’ll be at her most fertile?” she questioned, pouring the potions into separate flasks. She held them with her tail as she corked them.

Linnea nodded, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “Right now, actually. That’s why I came here…We didn’t want to wait any longer.” A somewhat cheeky, but embarrassed, grin came to her lips. “We were goin’ to try tonight.”

Thora quietly laughed, handing the potions over. “The bigger flask is for you an’ the smaller one is for her. I suggest drinkin’ them _before_ your dinner tonight. It’ll give the potion more time t’ work its way through your bodies.” She used her tail to pull her braids over her shoulder. “Also, you an’ Svea may end up feelin’…er, well, _frisky_ for a couple o’ days. That’s completely normal. It just means you’ll have more—well, more energy an’ desire t’ conceive a child.”

She nodded in understanding, listening to her every word. “And, if it works, how soon would we know?”

“It’s different for everyone,” she admitted. “It could be a few weeks or it could be a few months. Usually, the first symptoms are a lack o’ Blood Weeks, feelin’ sick at certain parts o’ the day, an’ cravings for certain foods. If that starts happenin’, have her visit Gothi or one o’ the midwives.”

“Why not you?” she questioned, tilting her head curiously.

“Er…well, I guess she _could_ come t’ me,” she blinked. “But, t’ be perfectly honest, I’m not really midwife material -at least, not right now.” She let out a small, nervous laugh. “I’m a bit… _scarred_ from the last birth I helped with.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “I’m afraid t’ ask, but what happened?”

“A dwarven woman was givin’ birth to a half dwarf, half satyr child…the child was breech _an’_ havin’ a hard time comin’ out. It was her goat legs, ya see. So, er…” She cringed at the memory. “Ya know how ya have t’ help yaks an’ sheep give birth by reachin’ in an’ pullin’?”

Linnea stuck her tongue out in disgust and horror. “Say no more. I’ll be sure Svea visits Gothi or Ylva.” Though she still wore a mild look of fear, she smiled at Thora. “But thank ya. For the potions, I mean. An’ thank ya for not thinkin’ I’m a freak.” Before Thora could reply, she left the hut.

With a quiet sigh, Thora ran her hand over her hair. ‘Well, that was surprising,’ she thought, making her way towards the door. ‘Didn’t think Linnea could be so…embarrassed about something. She’s normally so vivacious and outgoing. But, we’ve all got our secrets -some more important than others.’

She stepped out of the hut only to freeze. Gobber had his ax attachment on his stump and was ready to amputate someone’s arm. The arm, from what she could see, was dislocated at the elbow -no reason to cut it off!

“This is why _women_ are healers,” she muttered under her breath.


	25. 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if there are any outstanding spelling/grammar errors at the end of this chapter; I was honestly so sick of writing that part, that I didn't bother to go back and really edit it ^^; I guess that's what happens when you spend 3 days fighting a scene...
> 
> Also, I feel I should forewarn you guys that I *am* going to have the characters talking about more mature subjects (death, sex, sexuality, mental health, etc.) at various points. They're in their late teens-early twenties, so they're of the age to start talking about said subjects, especially since...well, Thora's a healer/witch/what-have-you. It's part of her job description to try and help out her friends with said subjects. I'll try to not get *too* graphic, but...I can't make any promises, especially regarding Ruffnut xD

“Whoa…”

Thora’s head was tilted to the side as she stared at the glowing, purple map on the wall. Hiccup stood beside her, a proud grin on his face as he watched her look it over. Going over to the table, he twisted part of the Dragon’s Eye, making the map change entirely.

“Isn’t it incredible?” he said, excitement in his voice. “Normal light doesn’t work -I tried it with candles and with the sun. It takes dragon’s fire to make it work.”

“It’s amazin’,” Thora grinned, glancing back at him. “How did ya find out about the dragon fire?” She walked over to him and Toothless closed his mouth. The map instantly faded away, leaving no traces of its existence.

He handed the Eye to her, a sheepish grin on his face. “By accident, really. Toothless was laying down for the night and I guess I had set the Dragon Eye down just right, because it caught the glow of the fire and just…well, lit up!” He rubbed the back of his neck, still grinning. “The maps lead outside the Archipelago and show all sorts of new dragons -most of them Fishlegs and I don’t recognize! How amazing is that?”

She laughed, handing the device back. “Sounds like you’re ready t’ go on an adventure,” she lightly teased. “Can’t say I blame you, really. Three years o’ livin’ in peace…Must have been nice, but oh so _borin’_.”

“That’s why I called for the meeting today.” He returned the Dragon Eye to the top of the pile of books he had set up. “If the council agrees to it, I’d like to explore these new areas and find these new dragons. Do you know how beneficial that would be for us?” A look of excitement had overcome his features. “There’s a whole new world out there that we know _nothing_ about! Just imagine the possibilities that it could contain! Not only that, but Dagur is most definitely heading outside our borders for help. If we go beyond the fog bank, we’ll find him.”

Thora bit her tongue, making herself look at the column beside her. She badly wanted to admit to him that she had gone to Berserk in an attempt to spy on Dagur, but she knew now wasn’t a good time. And how was she supposed to explain that she had escaped by snogging Dagur? It was bad enough that she had _enjoyed_ the snog; telling Hiccup about it would be worse.

‘Later,’ she told herself. ‘Let him enjoy his findings about the Dragon Eye.’

“I’ve already talked with the other riders about this.” Hiccup sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he turned back towards his cousin. He didn’t notice how she was feigning interest in the column; they had recently been repainted by Bucket, so he thought she was looking over the drawings. “They’ve agreed to come with me if the council sees fit to let us explore. But…well, none of us are very skilled when it comes to medicine.”

“…Are ya askin’ me t’ go with ya?” she questioned, brow rising as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

A wry grin spread across his lips. “Well, I mean…Gothi’s a bit too _old_ to go on such an adventure, don’t you think?”

She shrugged, but wore a teasing smile. “I _guess_ I could go with ya. It’s not like I could teach one o’ the twins how t’ be a healer in less than a few days, after all.”

Hiccup’s grin widened. “And you’ve already been outside the Archipelago!” he reminded her. “So you already know a few things we _don’t_ about the world out there.”

Snorting, Thora rolled her eyes. “Hiccup, I went t’ the _mainland_. We have maps an’ knowledge of it already. But this?” She tapped the Dragon Eye with her tail. “This is somethin’ entirely different. We don’t know _anythin’_ about it or where it came from. Which just means it’s even more important for ya t’ take a healer with ya. You’ll find new dragons while I may find new plants t’ use for medicine.”

He chuckled. “That’s true,” he agreed. “I didn’t even think of that, to be honest.”

“Another reason t’ bring me along,” she teased, lightly thwacking him with her tail. “You’re too focused on dragons. Ya need _someone_ t’ bring your head out o’ the clouds.”

“Good luck with that. His head never leaves the clouds!”

They turned, seeing Gobber and Stoick entering the Great Hall. Behind them followed Spitelout, Bucket, Mulch, and Not-So-Silent Sven. Thora blinked; she had thought at least Gothi, Ylva, and Linnea would also be present. After all, they were rather high-ranking in the tribe.

“Is this everyone?” she questioned.

Stoick nodded, motioning for the others to sit. “Aye, this is everyone.”

“No Gothi, Linnea, or Ylva?”

Spitelout snorted as he took his place at the table. “ _They’re_ not on the council. Speakin’ o’ which-” He threw a glare at her, not seeing the dangerous look Toothless gave him. “Neither are _you_. So, why don’t you just run along an’ do whatever it is you do?” A smirk came to his lips and Thora cocked her brow; she had seen the same grin worn by Snotlout many a time.

She wanted to punch it off his smug face.

Instead, she opened her mouth to reply, but Stoick spoke first. “She’s here because _I_ invited her,” he explained, his voice cool. “Since Thora is going t’, one day, replace Gothi as Völva, it’s crucial she learns what goes on in council meetings.”

“But Gothi-”

“-Normally declines to come to the meetings, yes, I understand. But she _always_ knows what’s going on, regardless if she’s present or not.” The look he gave Spitelout made the man cease further arguments. “Now.” He stood at the head of the table as everyone else fell silent. “I called you all here today because Hiccup has somethin’ he needs to show you all.” He set a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder before taking a seat at the table.

Thora gave her cousin an encouraging smile and a thumb’s-up from where she stood. She could tell he was nervous; she didn’t blame him. Making a presentation to the village council, let alone a presentation about exploring _outside_ the Barbaric Archipelago, was a tricky thing.

Toothless opened his mouth, letting a small amount of his fire light up the Dragon Eye. The map sprung into life on both the stone wall and on Hiccup’s skin as he stood partly in the way. A small grin came to her lips as she watched looks of awe fill the councils’ faces.

Hiccup began talking, explaining how the Dragon Eye contained various illustrations of different dragon species, many of which they had never seen before, and how there were maps of places beyond the fog bank. He also went on about how the information contained within the Dragon Eye meant that they would surely be able to learn things about the dragons they could have never imagined.

‘Come on, Hiccup,’ Thora thought, leaning against the column. She could see that Spitelout and Sven weren’t as intrigued as Bucket or Mulch. A small frown came to her face. ‘Tell them about possible treasures or something…Tell them about the possible medicines! Half your audience doesn’t much care for dragons. Play to their gold lust! Play to their wanderlust!’

Hiccup, however, couldn’t read her mind. As such, he continued on about how beneficial it would be to learn about these new dragons. Thora was a bit relieved when he started to explain how exploring the unknown lands would also be useful, as they could contain new sources of food and raw material for the village.

When he finally concluded, Stoick stood up once more and looked to the council. “It’s alright lads, you can speak your mind,” he said, setting his hand on Hiccup’s shoulder once more before stepping back to let him take charge of the conversation. “We’re a council, after all. It’s why we’re here.”

Taking the opportunity to freely voice himself, Spitelout spoke up. “We’ve been at peace for _three_ years. Best years of Berk that I can remember!” he stated. “I think you know as well as I do that, when you go lookin’ for trouble, you _usually_ find it.”

“I’m with Spitelout,” Svena agreed, a wary look in his eye. “If that Dragon Eye leads to unknown places an’ new, wild dragons, then no good will come from _any_ o’ that.”

Thora frowned, but said nothing.

“I completely disagree, Sven,” said Hiccup. “Look around you! How-how can you say that nothing good can come from discovering new species of dragons?” As he spoke he started gesticulating in an attempt to further emphasize his point. “If they’re out there, we _have_ to find them!”

“If there’s anythin’ you an’ the other rides _should_ be doin’,” Spitelout argued, doing his best to keep his tone civil, “it’s huntin’ down Dagur an’ puttin’ him back in jail where he belongs!”

“Yet another reason t’ explore out there,” Thora spoke up. “Last we knew, Dagur was headin’ beyond our borders. No doubt, he thinks we won’t go after him _because_ the area is so unknown to us.” She shrugged; she knew Dagur was still within the Archipelago borders, but she also knew that he had no allies here. He would be forced to seek outside help.

Spitelout and Sven didn’t seem convinced, unlike Bucket and Mulch. “Stoick, any time you’re like to chime in, we could put this thing t’ rest!”

“You’re right, Spitelout,” Stoick said, much to Thora and Hiccup’s chagrin. “Let’s put this to rest.” He stepped forward, pausing when Hiccup tried to stop him.

“Dad—”

“Let me speak, son,” he told him, a look in his eye. “This is as important for you an’ Thora t’ hear as it is for them.” He turned, glancing at each council member’s face in turn. “Spitelout, you’re absolutely right. These _have_ been some of our best years. Nothin’ is more important than peace: Peace among us, peace with our neighbors-”

Hiccup let out a quiet sigh, lowering his head in defeat. He thought Stoick was going to take their side; as such, he turned and began to leave. Thora, though, reached out and stopped him with her tail.

“Wait until he finishes,” she quietly told him.

“- _And_ peace with our dragons,” Stoick continued. “Havin’ said that, let me ask you this, Spitelout: When you an’ I first had Alvin in our sights an’ everyone was trying t’ tell us to leave well enough alone, what did we do?”

Spitelout opened his mouth to speak, but Gobber beat him to the punch. “Crushed ‘em, that’s what ya did!” he cheered. He didn’t see Thora smack her forehead at his outburst.

Stoick cocked his brow. “Thank you, Gobber,” he retorted, tone dry.

“My pleasure, chief!” he chirped, lightly tapping his helmet with his hook.

Lightly shaking his head, the chief continued on. “When Valka was taken, an’ I went in search for her -could anyone have stopped me?”

“Well, technically, you’re the _chief_ , so no,” Gobber answered again. He was blissfully oblivious to the annoyance he was causing.

“Yes, Gobber -fair point,” Stoick replied through somewhat clenched teeth, “but you know where I’m goin’. Think o’ the most important thing in the world t’ each of you. Ask yourselves, honestly, how would you be willing t’ go to get it. What would you risk?” He went over to Hiccup, smiling at his son. “The boy’s life has been dragons; his _life_ is dragons. An’ will continue to be. We can’t stop him from goin’ if we wanted to!” He let out a small laugh, patting Hiccup on the back, causing his to stumble forward. “So, we might as well support him.”

Hiccup’s eyes widened and he stared in shock at his father. “A-are you serious?” he gasped.

Stoick still wore a smile. “Go lad. Find whatever it is out there that’s pullin’ on you. You find it. Berk will be right here, waitin’ for you.”

Slowly, a grin began spreading across Hiccup’s face as the realization that this was actually happening dawned on him.

“You best get out o’ here before all this nostalgia wears off an’ he changes his mind,” Gobber joked. He glanced at Thora, who looked a bit excited as well. “Aye, lovey, ya best get goin’, too. They’re goin’ t’ need a healer an’ Gothi’s too old t’ go traveling _that_ far.” He made a shooing motion with his hand and hook. “Go on. You lot have quite the bit o’ supplies t’ gather up before you leave. Best not waste your time.”

Grabbing Thora’s arm, Hiccup practically dragged her out of the Great Hall. Toothless was on their heels, bouncing about animatedly; Hiccup’s excitement had filled him and he was eager to leave Berk to explore new places. When they stepped out of the Great Hall, they were greeted by Death Dance, who was patiently waiting for her rider. She curiously clicked her jaws, her head tilting as she saw the boisterous Night Fury.

“Hope you’re ready for a new adventure, Death,” Thora told her. “We’re goin’ explorin’.”

She clacked her jaws happily and beat her wings a few times. Leaning down, she nuzzled Hiccup and Thora before practically laying down to show Toothless the same affection. The two dragons made quiet purring noises as one another before Toothless hopped onto Death Dance’s skull, sitting there proudly as she stood upright.

“ _Toothless_ ,” Hiccup chuckled, though his voice was somewhat scolding. “C’mon, buddy. Get down from there. We’ve got to go let the others know of the ruling and pack up our supplies!”

Toothless looked down at him, a sort of laughing sound leaving his throat as he smiled. He returned to all fours and bounded down Death’s neck, following along her spine and down her tail until he touched the earth once more.

“My dragon is a playground for other dragons,” Thora snickered. “Lovely.” Reaching up, she scratched Death under the jaw, quietly laughing as the Boneknapper’s leg started twitching. “I suppose we’ll be left with carryin’ most o’ the supplies, as well? Being that she is so large.”

Hiccup blinked. “What? No!” He frowned. “We’re all going to carry our fair share. Just because Death Dance is—well, _huge—_ doesn’t mean you two should be burdened with _everything_.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora laughed once more. “Hiccup, I was _jokin’_ ,” she assured him. “But, I do expect she’ll be carryin’ more than the rest o’ ya. That’s not a bad thing, either. The more food an’ water we bring with us, the safer off we’ll be.” She glanced over her shoulder at her cousin. “I’m goin’ t’ go raid the market and storehouse for goods before packin’ up my medicines and whatnot. Come find me when you lot decide on when we’re leavin’, alright?”

He nodded, mounting Toothless. “Sure thing. Just don’t get carried away on the medicines.”

“One can never be prepared enough for emergencies,” she chirped, starting to lead Death Dance off.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re really takin’ that whole trunk?”

“Aye? Is that a bad thing?”

“No, just…Isn’t that a bit much? It’s fairly big, lovey.”

“I know.” Closing the lid to the trunk, Thora pushed some stray strands of hair from her face. “But, I’ve got everythin’ I need in it: My herbs, my medicines, a kettle for potions, some changes o’ clothes, some furs an’ blankets for sleepin’, a bit o’ soap, an’ a few other small things.” She patted the top of the chest before moving to flop on her cot. “All the food an’ water I’m bringin’ I’ve already packed into Death’s saddlebags.”

Despite her words, Gobber wore an unconvinced frown. “Are ya sure it isn’t goin’ to weigh Death down a bit? I mean, ya have no idea how long you’re goin’ t’ be gone or even how wide the fog bank is. Ya don’t want t’ tired her out.”

Lifting her head from her pillows, she looked at him, tiredness in her eyes. “Da’, we flew from the _mainland_ with three times as much weight,” she chuckled. “Death can handle it, I promise.”

He nodded in understanding. “I’m just bein’ an old worrywart,” he chuckled. “Speakin’ o’ which, did ya make sure t’ pack up your ax an’ a shield? I know you’re tryin’ t’ be a pacifist these days, but ya never know when you’ll need t’ defend yourself.”

“Aye. It’s in my saddlebags.”

“Good. Good…Who made it, by the way? I was lookin’ at it the other day when ya asked me t’ sharpen it. It’s wonderfully crafted. Don’t think I’ve seen a weapon that nice since I forged Stoick’s hammer!” He chuckled.

Thora sat up, beginning the task of removing her boots for the night. “Cæna made it,” she answered. “Ulfr commissioned it from him, since there were no weapons really my size. They were either too small or too large.” She quietly laughed. “Guess Cæna wanted t’ show off a bit when he made it, because it really is nice.”

He nodded, feeling a bit guilty for asking now. “The handle, especially, is gorgeous. Silver inlay isn’t very common, especially when it’s on an actual weapon, not a ceremonial one.”

“Aye. He worked extremely hard on it. I remember Jeltsje scoldin’ him for spendin’ so much time on it. ‘It has t’ be perfect!’ he told her.” A small, reminiscent smile came to her lips as she got her first boot off. “She tried arguing with him, since they had so many other weapons t’ make an’ repair. Didn’t work.”

“I wouldn’t think so. If you’re commissioned by a king, let alone the brother o’ the woman o’ your dreams, you’re goin’ t’ work your arse off on that weapon.”

Thora said nothing, removing her second boot.

Gobber let out a heavy sigh. “At least ya still have somethin’ t’ remember him by,” he told her, his voice quiet. “Not many folk get t’ have that much.”

She nodded, setting her boots against the wall. “I know,” she replied. “I…I don’t think we would have been able t’ stay together, anyway.”

He frowned. “An’ why is _that_?” he demanded.

She peeked over at him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Er…The fact that I’m goin’ t’ be Gothi’s replacement? Völva aren’t allowed families, let alone _lovers_.” It was her turn to let out a gloomy sigh and she brushed some hair from her face once more. “Which…when ya think about it, it’s not really fair. _Witches_ can have families an’ whatnot, but Völva can’t? Yet, they’re allowed t’ perform sex magic? How does _that_ work?” Rolling her eyes, she rested her chin atop her knees.

Rising from his seat, Gobber went over and sat down beside his daughter. Any other time, he would have teased her about how she towered over him, even when curled up like this. Now, however, he knew better than to try and liven the mood. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against him.

“Lovey, if ya don’t want t’ be a Völva, ya don’t have to,” he said, cradling her.

“But, I’ve spent the last four years learnin’ how t’ be one,” she retorted, brows furrowing. “Not t’ mention, everyone is expectin’ me t’ become one -Uncle Stoick, especially, wants me t’ become Hiccup’s Völva when Gothi passes on. I have no choice _but_ t’ become one by now.”

He wiggled his hook in a parental manner. “Not true. Just because everyone _expects_ it o’ ya, doesn’t mean ya _have_ follow their expectations, lovey.” He glanced down as she rested her head against his shoulder and suddenly, it felt like she was a small child again. “Just as easily, ya could become a healer or a simple witch. Odin’s undies, you could become an explorer or a swordsmith or even a great archivist like your Grandpappy Bork!”

She sighed. “The problem, da’, is that I don’t know _what_ I’d do if I wasn’t a Völva. Truth be told, even before ya apprenticed me off t’ Gothi, I wasn’t sure what I was goin’ t’ do with my life. Aye, I could have always followed in your footsteps an’ become a smith, but…” She scrunched her nose up. “Let’s face it, I would have lost my hearin’ instead o’ my arm.”

Unable to stop himself, he chuckled. “That’s true…But, regardless, lovey. You can do _anythin’_ ya want. Maybe take some time while you lot are out explorin’ t’ think about it?” He lightly ruffled her hair. “I’m sorry I can’t be o’ more help t’ ya, lovey.”

“Ya _are_ a help, da’,” she told him, using her tail to help her give him a hug. “I’ll do like ya said: Think it over while I’m gone. Maybe I can get some thoughts from Hiccup an’ the twins, too, while we’re out.”

Half his brow rose, but he returned the hug. “The twins? You’re not seriously goin’ t’ ask _them_ for advice, are ya?”

She cocked her brow. “Just because they act like mutton-heads around everyone else doesn’t mean they really _are_ mutton-heads,” she chuckled. “Trust me when I say they can be a good source o’ sage advice at times.”

He gave her a wary look, thoroughly unconvinced. He knew the Thorston twins had their moments of genius -but they were few and far between. “If ya say so,” he mused. Peeking down at her again, he patted her back. “Lovey, no matter what ya do, I’m here for ya. Ya know that, aye?”

“O’ course I do, da’,” she smiled.

“Even if it means ya don’t become a Völva. That’s fine with me. I want ya t’ do what _you_ feel is best for ya, understand? Aye, I may have forced ya into an apprenticeship, but…” He sighed, unable to look at his daughter as he finally admitted the truth to her. “But that’s because I was scared for ya. I know there is always a chance a troll could have a berserker-like bloodlust hidin’ in their veins, an’ I was scared that you may have gotten it.”

He scratched the side of his neck with his hook. “Ya were already bein’ treated like crap by most o’ the village. I didn’t want ya t’ end up worse off. So…Off t’ Gothi ya went. I thought, at least under her tutelage, ya’d get a decent education an’ learn some useful skills. It’s also keep ya out o’ trouble -for the most part.”

“I had a feelin’ that’s why ya did it,” she chuckled. “I don’t blame ya, though. If I were in your position, I probably would have done the same thing.” She shrugged. “An’ it did lead t’ some good things! Like me findin’ out I’m actually a fairly good healer an’ gettin’ t’ meet my brothers.” She gave Gobber a reassuring smile. “So, it wasn’t a wasted effort on your part.” She laughed as Gobber ruffled her hair once more.

“That’s good t’ hear,” he grinned. With some effort, he managed to stand up. “Now, since you’re leavin’ in the morning, you’re goin’ t’ need a nice, hearty dinner. What say ya t’ helpin’ me make some lamb stew, eh?”

Grinning, Thora got to her feet. “Sounds good t’ me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Into the great beyond…”

The lackluster cheer was followed by more, just as apathetic, utterings of ‘Into the great beyond’. Though the riders had left that morning full of vigor and enthusiasm for their adventure, they now found themselves bored and tired. They had been flying most of the day with no sign of the clouds clearing.

“Oh, come on, you guys,” Hiccup chuckled, trying to liven the mood. “So, we had a couple of tough hours. Nothing that’s worth _anything_ comes easy!”

“Is that one of your riddles?” Tuffnut turned to face him, a scowl on his face. “’Cause now is _not_ the time, my friend. We have to keep saying ‘great beyond’. Great beyond.”

“Great beyond,” Ruffnut groaned, slumping forward between Barf’s horns.

Hiccup sighed, running a hand through his hair. Twisting around in the saddle, he saw that everyone -even Fishlegs- looked bored out of their minds. “Toothless, let’s see if anything’s out there,” he murmured, patting the Night Fury’s neck.

Opening his mouth, Toothless let out a sound that was undetectable to the human’s ears. He lifted an ear flap, listening to see if it bounced off anything.

“Nothing,” Hiccup sighed. He winced, a water droplet falling into his eye. Seconds later, it was followed by an entire sheet of rain.

Astrid frowned, pulling up her hood. “It seems the father we go in, the worse the weather gets!” she called.

Fishlegs nodded in agreement. “Hiccup, I think we should turn back! We’ve been flying for most of the day!” He let out a small cry as thunder rumbled through the clouds.

Thora cringed, smacking her hand over her ear. “Bloody hell, I thought storms were loud on the ground…” she muttered.

“We just have to keep moving forward until we’re out of this!” Hiccup shouted above the noise. He waved his arms at the other riders, motioning for them to follow him to a lower altitude. He let out a yelp as he just barely missed being struck by lightning; an unexpected reminder of his duel with the Skrill.

Astrid suddenly pointed at a spot below them; it was free of clouds and she thought she could see the ocean. “Hiccup, is that…?” she shouted.

Looking where she pointed, Hiccup felt his heart beginning to race. “Yeah! It is!” he laughed. “Everyone, fly towards the light!”

“Oh, great -we’re going to do exactly what mom always tells us _not_ to do in a life or death situation,” Thora heard Ruffnut mutter.

As the group raced towards the light, the storm began to fade. Every few seconds, the clouds would still light up as lightning tore through them, but the thunder grew quiet and the rain lessened. Then, just as suddenly as the storm had come, it vanished.

The entire fog bank vanished for that matter.

Ahead of them, the group of dragon riders saw nothing but clear, blue sky and a calm ocean. The horizon was dotted with dozens of different islands. The closest island, however, was practically below them.

While everyone else was gasping at the beauty of it all, though, Thora had her nose scrunched up. There was a strange, musical sound filling her ears. It wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds, but she had heard worse in her life. Death Dance, too, seemed to hear it, as she looked around with wide eyes.

“Ugh, do ya guys hear that?” she called out, futilely covering only one ear.

“Yeah,” Hiccup agreed, frowning slightly.

“What is it?” Snotlout questioned.

“I have no idea! But whatever it is, the dragons are definitely pulled towards it,” replied Fishlegs.

Hiccup shrugged, wearing a slight frown. “Well, then, I guess that’s where we’re going,” he said, letting Toothless lead the group towards the island.

 “That…doesn’t sound like the smartest o’ ideas,” Thora called out. As they flew closer to the island, the sound got louder; it had yet to reach an unbearable volume, but it was quickly growing annoying.

“We’re only going to be there for a little while,” Hiccup assured her. “How much trouble can we get into?”

He would come to regret those words.

 

Everything on the island seemed peaceful. It had a bountiful forest, plenty of freshwater, good soil for growing food, and a great view of the horizon from the beach. The only thing that wasn’t so nice was the strange music, but Thora was the only one really annoyed by it. Everyone else found it almost enjoyable -the dragons, especially, liked it. As such, Thora stuffed her ears with a bit of beeswax.

“Can you hear me now?” Ruffnut called, standing no more than three feet away from her.

“How ‘bout now?” Tuffnut called, his voice even louder than his sister’s.

Thwacking both of them with her tail, Thora rolled her eyes. “Aye, I can still hear ya,” she told them. “I’m not _deaf_ with this stuff in.”

They pouted. “Darn it!” Tuffnut frowned, kicking a small rock and crossing his arms.

Ruffnut sighed, slouching forward in defeat. “And here, I was thinking we’d finally be able to sneak up on you!”

“Right. Like you two could  _ever_ be stealthy,” Snotlout snickered. “You’re about as stealthy as a Gronckle in a pottery shed.”

Fishlegs frowned. “I’ll have you know that Gronckles can be  _extremely_ light and delicate on their feet or in the air!”

Snotlout raised his brow, giving him a look. “I’ll believe  _that_ when I see it,” he scoffed.

Thora shook her head, chuckling. “Why did I agree t’ come along on this adventure again?”

The twins suddenly hugged her tightly. “Because you couldn’t stand being all alone on Berk without us!” they crooned in unison.

“Or not,” she told them, grinning as she watched their faces fall. “What? I wanted a bit o’  _fun_ for once. Ya think I’d get that, stayin’ back on Berk?” She blew a raspberry at them. “Not a chance.”

Tuffnut lightly tapped his chin, a thoughtful look coming to his face. “And yet,  _you_ were the one who was on the mainland for three years, getting to see and meet a whole assortment of people! Human  _and_ non-human, may I remind you!"

Ruffnut thwacked him upside the head. “Uh, she lost her  _arm_ and her  _lover_ in a war, Tuff. You really think she counts  _that_ as fun? How would you feel if you lost a limb  _and_ Macey during a battle, huh?”

Thora opened her mouth, wanting to point out how a mace and a human life were two incomparable things. She shut it, though, knowing better than to question Ruffnut’s logic. Instead, she shook her head and started to walk off. 

“Where’re you going?” Hiccup questioned, brows furrowing.

She shrugged. “Well, since we decided t’ make camp here for the night, I thought I’d go collect some firewood. Snotlout’s Nightmare Gel fire’s goin’ t’ need fuel eventually.”

He nodded in understanding. “Just don’t stray too far, alright? This island is pretty nice, but it’s still unknown to us.”

“And take the mutton-heads with you!” Snotlout commanded, pointing at the twins. They were now rolling around on the ground, kicking and hitting one another. “Otherwise, they’re going to destroy the campsite.”

Hiccup nodded in agreement. “I hate to admit it, but Snotlout’s right. After spending most of the day stuck on a dragon, they need to release some energy - _away_ from us.” He gave Thora a cheeky smile as she cocked her brow. “And you’re the only one of us who can get them to stop fighting!”

At that, she snorted. “No, I just let them wear themselves out,” she replied. Reaching down, though, she grabbed Ruffnut’s belt and easily hoisted her off her brother. “I’ll take _one_ mutton-head. Sound fair?”

Pouting as she squirmed against Thora’s grip, Ruffnut looked up at her. “I wasn’t done kicking his butt!”

“You can kick it later,” Thora chuckled, carrying her off.

She didn’t set Ruffnut down for at least ten minutes, wanting to make sure she didn’t run back to camp and continue fighting her twin. A quiet laugh left her mouth as she watched her readjust her clothing and helmet before lightly punching her.

“So, why’d you pick me over Tuff?” she questioned, following into pace with Thora.

“Well, you were closer,” Thora shrugged. She looked around at the trees; they were mostly deciduous, yet most still had their leaves. “That, an’…I may need t’ get somethin’ off my chest an’ I trust ya a wee bit more than Tuff.”

Ruffnut’s eyes widened, but she grinned. “ _Really_?” she questioned, sounding more than a little intrigued. Stretching her arms out in front of her, she cracked her knuckles. “Well then, lay it on me! I’m all ears!”

Thora cocked her brow as she looked down at her. “First, I want ya t’ promise me ya won’t tell _anyone_ -least o’ all, Hiccup.”

At that, Ruffnut frowned, the humor instantly disappearing from her face. “Whoa…that must be some pretty heavy stuff you’re carrying if you don’t want me telling _Hiccup_ of all people.”

Sighing, Thora nodded. Spotting a decent sized fallen branch, she used her tail to pick it up. “It is…That’s why I need ya t’ promise me ya won’t tell him. Or anyone else for that matter.” She tucked the branch under her arm.

Ruffnut nodded. “Yeah, I promise,” she answered, her brows furrowed in concern. “Though, you got me a little scared now, Thora…”

She gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s just…I need t’ tell _someone_ ‘bout this, an’ I don’t think the gods would appreciate me seekin’ them out just t’ vent. Especially since I’m already apparently on Freya’s bad side.”

“Wait, what? How are _you_ on Freya’s bad side? And how do you know you’re on it?”

“Freyr told me when I sought counsel with the gods a few weeks ago. She’s…she’s not happy with the fact that I’ve had a lover an’ fought in a war.”

Her brow rose. “Uh…”

“I know, I know -she’s the goddess o’ _both_ those things.” She chuckled, pointing at a branch for Ruffnut to grab. “But, since I’m supposed t’ be trainin’ t’ be a Völva, I should be pacifistic an’ celibate. I’ve been doin’ my best t’ be peaceful -I really have!- but, er…” Her cheeks darkened a bit only to grow much darker as Ruffnut knowingly elbowed her in the side.

“Had some _fun_ with your boyo before the war, huh?” she grinned cheekily. Leaning over, she grabbed the branch. “Can’t blame you, really. From how you described him, Cæna sounded almost as pretty as my Kenna!”

Thora bit her tongue, glancing away. “And…I may have snogged Dagur the Deranged a few days ago…”

At that, Ruffnut froze in mid-step, her jaw having fallen slack.

Unable to look at her friend out of guilt, Thora swallowed hard.

“You…you did _what_?” she whispered, eyes wide in shock. “And with _who_?!”

Cringing, she looked at the ground. “I snogged Dagur…B-but I had t’ distract him so I could steal his crossbow!” Pain filled her tongue; she had bit down too hard.

Snapping out of her shock, Ruffnut began waving her hands about as she spoke. “Why were you even _around_ Dagur in the first place? Secondly, what lead to you having to make out with him in order to steal his crossbow?!” She gripped her helmet, her eyes wide in shock and anger. “Holy crap, Thora: I’ve been in some dangerous situations, but hooboy -that _almost_ beats anything I’ve been in!”

Sighing, she ran a hand over her hair; she could taste blood oozing from her tongue. “When I heard he got away from Hiccup, but got all o’ Johann’s treasure, I thought…I thought I’d do a bit o’ spyin’ on him. See what he was up to, ya know?” She leaned back against a tree, still unable to look at Ruffnut. “I thought it could help me come up with a plan for tryin’ t’ get him t’ be our ally.”

Crossing her arms, Ruffnut tapped her foot on the ground. “Dagur? _Our_ ally? I may not be the smartest chicken in the henhouse, but even _I_ know that’s _never_ going to happen.” For the first time in her life, there was a truly scolding tone to her voice. “And you-of all people!- went to _spy_ on him? You could have been taken captive - _again_!”

“Freyr told me Dagur could be tamed,” Thora quietly told her, closing her eyes.

Ruffnut frowned. “What? What do you mean, _Freyr_ told you Dagur could be _tamed_?”

“A few weeks ago, I sought the Gods’ Path,” she explained. “Instead o’ Freya, I got Freyr. He told me that, with some… _effort_ , Dagur could be tamed an’ turned into our ally.” She shifted against the tree, her nose scrunching up slightly as she plucked a spider from her shoulder. Flicking it on the ground, she ran her hand over her hair. “I thought that, maybe, by spyin’ on him, I’d get _some_ sort o’ an idea on how t’ do that.” She let out another sigh. “Instead, _he_ found me at the end o’ his crossbow.”

She started to drum her fingers against her arm. “And the two of you made out?”

Opening her eyes, Thora frowned. “We _talked_ first. It’s not like I just grabbed him an’ started kissin’ him.”

Ruffnut didn’t seem entirely convinced. “What did you talk about?”

“Well…Truthfully, we more or less pointed out how much the other had changed. I pointed out his beard, he pointed out my height. He didn’t seem t’ notice my missing arm at all, though. Probably because I was wearing my bear cloak…” She shrugged. “Then, I’m pretty sure he was intent on killin’ me, because he shoved me against a tree and had a look o’ death in his eyes-”

At that, she was unable to stop herself from cackling. “Loki’s laughter, Thora -you’re turned on by violence?! I would’ve never thought that of you!”

Thora’s cheeks grew much darker and she reached over, thwacking Ruffnut with her tail. “No!” she cried, a mixture of horror and disgust on her face. “How could ya even think that!?” She then smacked her face, quietly groaning. “Ugh, Ruffnut—that’s just— _no_!” Shaking her head, she sighed and looked skywards, as if silently praying for help. After a moment, she regained her composure and continued, though her voice still bore a great amount of disgust to it. “Thankfully, he felt less inclined t’ murder me when he realized I was still wearin’ the necklace he gave me.”

Having still been laughing, Ruffnut stopped and frowned once more. “Wait, you _still_ have it?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t just, y’know…toss it or sell it.”

“But he gave it to you as a wedding present! Last I checked, you’re not married to him. To anyone, for that matter.”

“I know! I know. But…” Biting her tongue once more, she pulled the necklace out from beneath her tunic, showing it to Ruffnut. “Just try t’ tell me that you’d be able t’ get rid o’ this with no hesitation. I _dare_ ya.”

Walking over to her, Ruffnut stood on her tiptoes and thoughtfully stroked her chin. She looked at the necklace, having never paid it any attention before. Her brow rose as she inspected the beads and the craftsmanship of the silver wiring wrapped around them. A few minutes passed before she stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest once more.

“I see your point,” she admitted. “It is beautiful - _and_ worth quite a bit of gold. I, too, would be loath to part with such a pretty object…” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Unless, of course, I was offered the right price.”

“I’m not sellin’ it,” Thora told her, a brow raised.

Ruffnut shrugged. The two women finally began to walk again, returning to their search for firewood. “Suit yourself, but if ever you’re in a pinch, you could sell a piece like that for a small fortune.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I doubt I’ll find myself in that sort o’ situation.”

Again, she shrugged before reaching up and snapping a branch off a dead tree. “You never know.” A wicked grin them spread across her face as she looked up at Thora. “Well, now that we got all the heavy stuff off your chest…”

Her brow remained raised. “Er…”

Nudging her with her elbow, Ruffnut winked up at her. “How good of a kisser was he?”

Thora’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “Er—I—Er…”

Ruffnut snorted. “Come _on_ , Thora! If he’s _half_ as good at kissing as he is at being crazy, then he has to be a fairly decent kisser!” She rolled her eyes, still grinning. “Though, I have to imagine it was kind of weird thanks to his scraggly beard.”

Thora bit her tongue and ran her hand over her hair. “Actually, I didn’t mind the beard so much. I mean, that part was like kissin’ anyone else with a beard, I guess.” She used her tail to gather up more sticks and branches as they walked.

“Yeah, see…I’ve only ever kissed Kenna and a few clean shaven guys, so…” She shrugged. “Unless, of course, it’s like kissing a woman’s-” She was interrupted as Thora snorted.

“Trust me: It’s _nothin’_ like that. Beards are _far_ coarser.”

 

* * *

 

 

As evening fell, the dragons and their riders formed a circle around the fire. The dragons slept on the outside while their riders slept, snuggled against them, on the inside. Their stomachs filled with a good dinner, they drifted off into a deep, restful sleep. Nothing disturbed them during the night -at least, nothing disturbed the riders.

In the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, the strange song that had been echoing since they arrived changed. Its pitch became more soothing and its hum became more alluring. One by one, the dragons woke up and crept away from their riders. They headed into the forest, transfixed by the song.

Death Dance was the third dragon to be ensnared by the tune. Lifting her head, she cocked it in an attempt to better hear the song. She softly clacked her jaws before rising up and waddling into the forest. Navigating the undergrowth -and overgrowth- was a hard task for the large dragon; her bones kept snagging on branches and the trees poked at what bits of exposed skin she had.

But she pressed on. She _had_ to find the source of that music. It was so pretty, so calming, so promising. She didn’t even think to fly, she was so enamored by it.

She started to run.

As the music grew louder, the trees began to thin out. Within a few minutes, the music sounded no more than a hundred yards away. She suddenly stopped; the trees had abruptly given way to a rocky hillside.

But, more important, there stood a tremendously large mound of dragon bones.

Death Dance snapped out of the song’s effect, her eyes widening in awe at the pile. She had never seen so many bones in her life -not even at Death’s Head Headland back on Berk! There had to have been thousands of bones resting before her. Many were old and had become brittle with age, but many more were relatively new and still strong -they would make excellent armor.

Clacking her jaws excitedly, she raced forward. She began digging through the pile, searching for the very best bones. Wading through the bones was worse than trying to pick her way through the forest, but she didn’t mind -this was much more rewarding. She also took notice of the strange, amber colored rocks littered amongst the pile. She sniffed one only to snort in disgust; it smelled like death and dragon’s breath.

It was as the first rays of morning sunlight broke the horizon that she saw it: An enormous, multi-horned skull.

Her jaw fell slack.

Slowly, she approached the skull, eyes wide. It was absolutely terrifying! As she got closer, she could see that it was somewhat fresh, being bleached white from the sun. She nudged it with her snout, turning it on its side to inspect its inner structure. It certainly _looked_ big enough for her to fit her head into, though she knew better than to get her hopes up. Finding perfectly sized dragon skulls was a hard, tricky task even for the best Boneknappers.

The only way she would find out for certain was to try it on and that was taking a great risk. Without their bones, Boneknappers had no form of defense; their scales never fully hardened, leaving them soft and supple like skin. It also meant that other dragons could easily rip them to shreds.

Standing upright, she resolutely flapped her wings before beginning to secrete a special layer of mucous. It would dissolve her hardened saliva and allow her to shed her old bones. She began to wriggle and writhe about, working the bones off her flesh and letting them fall down into the pile.

Getting her skull off was more difficult, however. Being that it was the oldest bone set she had, it took much longer to dissolve the saliva. She then had to use her wings to help tug the skull off -a delicate process, as she didn’t want to break it should the other skull not fit.

Once it was off, however, she felt naked and vulnerable. Shrinking down, she glanced around and listened for any approaching dragons. She made a soft, pathetic noise as she did her best to crawl to the new skull. Peeking over her shoulder one last time, she grabbed the top half of the skull with her wings and started to wriggle her head into it. With some work and a little finagling, she managed to fit her head inside the cranium. Shaking her head, she checked its fit; it wiggled only slightly, meaning it would sit still once adhered.

The jawbone, however, proved to be a problem. It was much too short to cover her own jaw. Pulling off the skull, she looked between it and her previous jaw. They would be mismatched, yes, but if anything, the old jaw would only add to the intimidating cranium.

She lined both with a thick coating of spit, making it as even as possible, before replacing them atop her head. While she was at it, she began adhering the other bones that would make up her new armor. Then, she carefully made her way out of the boneyard. She then gingerly spread her wings, admiring her new armor. These new bones were much cleaner looking than her old armor and she had been able to cover up more of her skin than before. A pleased purr left her mouth.

The sound of a dragon wailing in terror echoed through the still morning air. Her eyes widened; it was Barf and Belch. Not more than five seconds later and another cry filled the air -this time, it was the angered roaring of Hookfang. Eyes narrowing, she hurried towards their cries.

Death Dance skidded to a halt as she rounded a bend. In front of her were dozens of dragons, all of them stuck to the ground and to the cliffs thanks to the strange, amber rock she had seen earlier. A growl left her throat and she started to cautiously stalk forward. Whatever had done this was _not_ a nice creature; real hunters would only seek out as much food as they needed. Not trap this much in excess, let alone of _living_ creatures.

This? This was cruelty. This was _torture_.

When she came upon the first dragon, she recoiled. It was a Gronckle -but one that was much too skinny and too close to death to save. It barely acknowledged her presence as she tried biting the amber. Her strong jaws barely made a scratch. Sadly, she gave the Gronckle an apologetic nuzzle before forcing herself to continue looking for her friends.

As she made her way further into the valley, she sniffed the air, trying to smell where the others were. She kept passing strange dragons, weakened from starvation and thirst -some were already dead and decomposing in their amber cocoons.

She hoped she wouldn’t find the riders with the others.

A call rang out and she perked. Standing upright, she could see Barf and Belch stuck to the backside of a boulder. She darted over only to freeze once more: Meatlug and Stormfly were trapped as well.

Once again, she tried biting the amber and, once more, it was to little avail. She swung her tail around, trying to break it with brute strength. That, too, failed. She would have tried blasting it with her fire, but a familiar, soothing song filled the air.

Lifting her head, she scanned the skies to see a large, orange and purple dragon flying towards them. She was unable to stop herself from stepping towards the dragon, wanting to hear more of its deadly sweet song. Barf and Belch, however, snatched her tail in their jaws, trying to pull her away.

It was a mostly useless effort, though. As the dragon swooped it, in spat hot, orange liquid at Death Dance. It would have gotten her head and wings if not for the Hideous Zippleback, who had managed to tug her hard enough to make her rear up. The liquid instead covered her legs and hardened far too rapidly for her to try to get out of it.

The strange dragon perched on a nearby boulder, looking over its latest victim. The Boneknapper was much too large to carry off, let alone eat in one sitting! It would have to rip her limbs off in order to make a proper meal of her. It huffed in indignation as Death Dance roared at it, the sound making part of the rock wall behind it crumble. Flying off, it instead chose to take a Deadly Nadder as its next meal.

Death Dance roared again, trying to pull herself free of the amber. When her legs didn’t budge, she tried to take to the air, but amber had her glued to the ground. She wondered if her mucous could dissolve the amber…

Barf and Belch crooned pitifully at her before flopping their heads on the ground. Twisting her head around, Death Dance clacked her jaws in an encouraging fashion before trying to fly once again.

Hookfang snapped at her and growled, urging her to stop struggling. She snorted at him, smoke furling from her nostrils. Nearby, Meatlug whined; she hated being trapped, but she hated seeing her friends upset with each other more. Stormfly squawked irritably, just wanting them to shut up so they could form some sort of plan.

All of them fell quiet as they heard familiar yells.

“Hookfang! HOOKFANG!”

“Stormfly! Where are you, girl?”

“Death Dance! Come here, Deathy!”

“Meatlug! Where are you, my sweet Meatlug!?”

Death Dance roared a third time, knowing she was loud enough to get the attention of the riders. Knowing they were still free gave her some hope of escape, though she hadn’t a clue as to how they would free them. Maybe Thora would use some of her magic? Or Hiccup would come up with some way to break the cocoons?

The dragon riders came running around the corner, Toothless with them. While the others hurried to try and free their dragons, Thora gawked at Death Dance. Though she looked much the same with her new bones, her new cranium made Thora second-guess whether or not it was _her_ Boneknapper she was looking at. As Death Dance lowered her head and affectionately nuzzled her, though, she knew it couldn’t be anything _but_ her dragon.

“I thought I saw your skull in that pile out there,” she sighed, resting her forehead against the bone. “Ya got yourself in quite the pickle, haven’t ya?” She made her way to Death’s legs, where she flicked the amber. “Hard stuff,” she murmured. “Like rock…that probably means it can’t be cut. Let’s try a little magic.” She pressed her palm against the amber and tried to call forth some magic from the earth.

The earth on this island, however, was eerily devoid of magic.

Her eyes shot open as the roar of the Death Song filled the air.

Spinning around, she was just in time to see the Death Song sweep down, hitting Toothless with its liquid amber. Hiccup shouted for the others to get to their dragons and try to free them. Thora barely had time to react when a blob of hot amber slammed into her body, knocking her back against Death Dance. She tried to free herself of the steaming goo, but it hardened within seconds.

“I can’t move!” Fishlegs cried. “I’m totally stuck!” Almost his entire body had been covered by amber.

He was better off than Snotlout, though -only his head remained uncovered. “Me, too!” Snotlout frowned. “I can’t believe that thing got me! I’m usually so limber…”

The twins had been cocooned together. “Yeah, well at least you got your own cocoon!” he snapped, irritated at being trapped beside his sister.

“Oh, yeah, like this is a picnic for me!” Ruffnut barked, attempting to smash her head into his. She only succeeded in making the two of them lose balance and fall backwards.

“I’m fine,” Tuffnut groaned. He turned his head, seeing Thora struggling to work herself out of the amber. It had her pinned around her waist and had fully covered her satchel. “Uh, Thora…? I don’t think that’s going to work.”

She scrunched her nose up, squirming. “It’s worth a shot,” she grunted. “I can kind o’ wiggle around-”

“Yeah, but uh…your hips are kind of way bigger than your waist,” Ruffnut told her. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Ooh! You could try slipping out of it through the bottom!” she suggested.

Thora paused, her brow rising. “Ruff…I _am_ tryin’ t’ go from the bottom. I can’t move up _or_ down, though…” She sighed, running her hand over her hair. “Ugh…I bet if I had some magic, I could get out o’ this somehow…”

“What do you mean?” Astrid called. She had been trapped against Toothless thanks to shoving Hiccup out of the way. “I thought you’ve always had magic?”

She sighed. “This island _has_ no magic,” she explained. “Because I’ve still got that weird dispelling potion in my blood, I can’t use my own magic, so I’ve got t’ use Midgard’s magic. But…I can’t use what’s not here.”

“What?!” Snotlout cried. “But you were supposed to become some badass witchy woman while you were gone! Instead you lost your arm _and_ your magic!?” He scowled at her, despite being unable to see her. “Why are you even here then!?”

“I _can_ do magic,” she argued. “I just need Midgard’s magic. But, like I said, there isn’t any here!” She started to struggle against the amber again, but only managed to make her waist hurt.

Snotlout grunted, also trying to get free. “Where’s Hiccup?” he demanded, giving up. “I _knew_ he’d leave us!” He then pouted, wishing he could cross his legs. “I really have to pee…”

“He didn’t _leave_ us,” Astrid scolded. “He’ll be back. But if I could just…reach…my knife…” She clenched her eyes shut in concentration, trying to will her fingers to push through the cocoon and grab the knife hidden in her belt.

Fishlegs shook his head. “It wouldn’t matter, Astrid. Whatever this is, it’s _really_ strong.” He tried to push against it for emphasis. “I don’t think we can cut through it.”

“If we can’t _cut_ it or use magic on it, then _how_ do we get out of here?” Snotlout questioned.

Thora noticed something from the corner of her eye. A small grin came to her face. “Uh, guys?”

“Yeah!” Tuffnut pouted, ignoring her. “You can’t tell me that my last breath is going to be spent inhaling her stinky fish hair!”

“Guys?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s _real_ original!” Ruffnut growled, glaring down at her brother. “You know what? I hope it _eats_ you first! At least then I’ll have something _cool_ to watch before I die!”

Thora rolled her eyes, shaking her head. She watched as a wild Thunderdrum, ridden by Hiccup, slammed into their cocoon. They were sent flying through the air and landed hard on the ground, but the amber didn’t crack.

“Alright, so that’s a negative on Plan A: Ramming the cocoon open,” Hiccup sighed, a bit disappointed by the result.

Astrid, surprised by his sudden arrival, bit her lower lip. “Please tell me you have a Plan B?”

“If it involves cutting, ramming, ripping, or magic, you may as well forget, Hiccup,” Fishlegs sighed, his tone beaten. “Once it cools down, this stuff is hard as any rock I’ve ever seen.”

“Wait, ‘cools down’?” Hiccup repeated, brows furrowed.

“And hardens,” Thora added. “It’s quite annoyin’, really.”

A thoughtful look came to his face as he started to get an idea. “Hmm…Nobody move.” He mounted the Thunderdrum and took off.

“Oh, yeah, that’s funny,” Tuffnut grumbled. “A _real_ comedian we have here.”

 

Thankfully, Hiccup was only gone a total of ten minutes. Upon landing, he hurried off the Thunderdrum’s back and over to his friends, where he set down five jars of Monstrous Nightmare gel. Uncorking one of the jars, he began pouring the liquid over Fishlegs and Meatlug’s cocoons. He then made a line over to where the twins where, dumping some on them before needing to get a second jar.

“Uh, Hiccup? What are ya doin’?” Thora questioned as Hiccup doused her cocoon in the gel. “Do ya think this’ll melt the cocoon?”

“No,” he admitted, “but, I think by lightning it on fire, _that_ will melt this stuff enough for you guys to get out.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re goin’ t’ set us on fire!?” she gaped. “If ya wanted t’ do that, then why not just have one o’ our dragons spew fire at us?”

“I don’t want to risk roasting you guys alive,” he told her, now spreading the gel over the amber encasing Death Dance’s feet. “With the Nightmare gel, at least, I’m able to make sure the fire is concentrated to one area instead of all over your bodies.”

She nodded in agreement. “True,” she admitted. “Let’s hope this works an’ doesn’t result in us gettin’ roasted alive…”

“Are you crazy?!” Snotlout hissed as Hiccup poured the Nightmare gel over his cocoon.

“Just trust me, Snotlout.”

“Says the man who’s about to set me on _fire!_ ”

A mischievous grin came to Hiccup’s lips and he shrugged innocently. “You said it only stings a little,” he teased.

“I was lying!” he whined. “You know I’m a liar! Why did you think I was telling the truth!?”

Hiccup lightly patted the top of his helmet. “It’ll be fine, Snotlout. I promise.”

“Ya may want t’ hurry,” Thora called. “I can hear the Death Song comin’!” She tried to twist around to see what her cousin was doing, but only cursed in pain. ‘Gods above, I can’t get out of this soon enough!’ she thought, nose scrunched up.

Just a minute later, the Death Song arrived. It perched atop a boulder, looking for its next meal. Finding the riders and their dragons still too active for its liking, it instead flew over to a purple Gronckle. Fishlegs froze in horror; the dragon was close enough to him, he could smell its breath. He remained tense even as the Death Song took off with the Gronckle, leaving him and Meatlug be.

“Hiccup! Hurry up!” he whimpered. “He just took the appetizer. I think I’m the main course!” He cursed as he heard a small crack and he toppled backwards. “Oh, Thor!”

Astrid sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face. “Fishlegs, relax,” she said, trying to calm him. “It could take _hours_ for that thing to eat that dragon.”

“Or minutes,” Thora said, her face paling as she heard the dragon coming near once more.

Fishlegs swallowed hard, his eyes wide and full of panic as the Death Song landed before him. “Help…” He started trying to kick himself away from the dragon, but only succeeded in turning himself around. “H-hi, s-sir…”

The Death Song spread its wings and the frills around its neck, ready to snatch him up. It was distracted by a shout from in the air behind it. Turning, it saw Hiccup and the Thunderdrum flying off. It forgot about Fishlegs for now, instead choosing to chase after his new quarry.

Thora tried to watch the skies for what was going on, but Death Dance blocked most of the view. The Boneknapper started to clack her jaws excitedly and beat her wings, making Thora nervous. Just a few minutes later, she was able to see Hiccup fling himself from the Thunderdrum’s back, his shield in front of him. He hit the ground and skidded, the impact making the metal of his shield spark and igniting the Nightmare gel.

Flames traveled like lightning along the gel, turning blue with the heat created. In just a minute, the riders and their dragons were able to start pushing the amber away from their bodies. In just two minutes, they were able to shatter the substance, freeing themselves.

Now freed from their cocoons, the riders mounted their dragons and took to the air, wanting to get away. Hiccup paused, however, hearing a weak cry from nearby. Frowning, he lead Toothless around a bend only to find a young Thunderdrum encased in amber.

“It’s an adolescent Thunderdrum,” he murmured. A look of realized dawned on his face. “No wonder he stuck around! Snotlout!”

“What?” called Snotlout. “Why are you still grounded?! We need to get away from here!”

“There’s one more dragon we need to help!” Hiccup shouted back. “Come help this little guy while I handle the Death Song!”

Knowing he really had no choice, Snotlout groaned and turned Hookfang around. They landed near the young dragon only to be surprised as Thora and Death Dance landed as well.

His brow rose as he started to pour some gel onto the Thunderdrum. “Uh…?”

“If it’s hurt, it’s goin’ t’ need some help,” Thora answered. “Even from here, I can tell it’s dehydrated.” Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out a flask of water.

Hookfang tilted his head down, gently nuzzling the young dragon. Death Dance copied his action before puffing out a tiny flame, lighting the gel. Hookfang helped free the Thunderdrum by smacking the burning amber with his tail, shattering it.

Thora knelt down and gingerly crawled towards the dragon. “Here ya go, lil’ guy,” she cooed, offering it the flask. At first, it shirked away from her, but when she splashed a bit of water onto its scales, it made a soft purring noise. It cautiously stepped forward.

“Drink up,” Thora smiled, pouring water into its open mouth.

“Huh,” Snotlout murmured, his brow rising once again. He put his hands on his hips. “That thing’s a lot cuter than Bing, Bam, and Lloyd…”

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but thought better of it. She instead poured the rest of the flask’s water over the Thunderdrum, cooling it down a bit. “Feel better?” she asked it.

“You know it can’t hear you, right?” he asked.

“Force o’ habit,” she replied, standing up. She smiled as Death Dance gently nuzzled the younger dragon once more before flapping her wings in an attempt to urge it into flying. It started to flap its wings, though it didn’t take to the air right away. Thora was ready to pull out another potion when the dragon finally rose into the air and flew away.

“It must still be learning how to take off,” Snotlout guessed. “Or it’s still weak from a lack of food. Who knows how long it was trapped before we got here?”

Tucking the water skin back into her bag, Thora made to climb atop Death Dance once more. “Not terribly long, thank the gods. It’s not underweight like the poor Gronckle at the entrance to the valley…”

Snotlout frowned, remembering how sad the sight of the trapped Gronckle had been. Out of pity, the group had agreed that it would be best to put it out of its misery. Biting his lower lip, he mounted Hookfang, but didn’t let his dragon take off right away.

“Hey…” He glanced up at Thora, finding her wearing a sorrowful look as she gazed at the still-trapped dragons around them. “…Do you think we’ve got enough time to free the rest of these guys?”

A small smile came to her lips. “How much Nightmare gel do ya have left?”

 

“Where are Snotlout and Thora?” Hiccup demanded, finding all but those two on the beach half an hour later.

“We don’t know.” Astrid looked worried as she pushed her bangs from her face. “We only know that you told Snotlout to help the baby Thunderdrum and Thora went with him.”

“But they got the baby Thunderdrum free,” Ruffnut added. “We saw it reunite with the big Thunderdrum.”

Worry beginning to fill his mind, Hiccup looked down at Toothless. “What do you say, bud? Should we track them down?” he quietly asked.

“No need!”

The group looked up only to find Snotlout and Thora leading a flock of dragons towards the beach. Relieved sighs left Hiccup and Astrid’s mouth while the twins and Fishlegs let out a chorus of ‘Whoa’.

“Sorry we’re late,” Snotlout said as Hookfang landed on the sand. “But, uh, our healer’s kind of a big softie and wouldn’t let us leave without freeing the rest of the dragons.”

Though her brow was cocked, Thora wore a knowing smirk. “Thankfully _, Hookfang_ cooperated an’ provided an ample amount o’ gel t’ free them all.” Dismounting Death Dance, she went over to the pile of gear and grabbed her saddlebags. As she walked past Snotlout, she lightly thwacked him with her tail.

Snotlout readjusted his helmet, grinning. “We were able to save all but three,” he told the others. “Pretty good, considering how many were trapped back there!”

Hiccup smiled; he hadn’t expected Snotlout and Thora to _ever_ get along. “You guys did good,” he told them. “I’m actually pretty proud of the two of you. I don’t think the rest of us would have thought to help the rest of the dragons.”

“We couldn’t let them die like that,” Snotlout frowned, dismounting Hookfang to gather his own luggage. “It wouldn’t have been an honorable death.”

“Uh…Snotlout? I don’t think dragons have quite the same code of honor as us humans,” Fishlegs said. “And half-humans!” he quickly added, though Thora was wholly unaffected by his words.

She did, however, shrug. “Doesn’t matter. The Death Song wasn’t playin’ fair. Its song gives it too much o’ an advantage, lettin’ it amass a vast supply o’ food. But that throws the rest o’ the island off balance, because if all the dragons are trapped or dead, what’s is goin’ t’ do when it’s run out o’ food?”

“Move onto a different island, that’s what,” Snotlout concluded. “So, really, we were just evening the odds for the rest of the island’s dragon population.”

Astrid crossed her arms, impressed by both their teamwork and their logic behind it. “I’m impressed. Not only did you two work together, but now you’re finishing one another’s sentences? Keep this up and the two of you will make a good team someday.”

At that, the twins pouted and ran over to Thora, clinging onto her. She toppled to the ground, having been thrown off balance by the sudden addition of their weight.

“She was our friend first!” Ruffnut snapped.

“Yeah! She’s part of _our_ team! Snotlout can go find a different team member!” Tuffnut agreed.

Rolling her eyes, Thora chuckled. “Er…twins? We’re _all_ a team. Ya don’t have t’ worry about that.”

“But you _were_ our friend first,” Tuffnut told her.

Hiccup laughed. “Actually, she was _my_ friend first,” he reminded him. “She is my _cousin_ , after all.”

“Don’t you try to use your smarty-pants common sense on us.” Ruffnut frowned. “You know full well what we mean!”

Again, Thora rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, ya two. You’re still my _best_ friends.”

The twins smooshed their cheeks against hers as they gave her an extra squeeze. “That’s good to hear,” Tuffnut chirped, a pleasant smile on his face.

 Ruffnut added, her expression mirroring her brother’s, “Because we’re crap at sharing. Just look at our well-groomed stuffed yak.”

She cringed at the thought. “Please don’t tear me in twain like the yak…”

“We can’t, because we wouldn’t be able to divvy you up properly,” Ruffnut grinned. “Anyway, we wouldn’t want to bring you any ‘arm’ now would we?” She started cackling at the others groaned at the horrible pun.


	26. 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give a quick thank-you to everyone who has been leaving me sweet comments on this story. I've been having a rough time lately due to trolls (no offense, Thora) and anti-oc/canon haters bombarding me. Reading through all your comments again, though, really helped to cheer me up and reminded me that I don't write this story for them, and that I owe the haters nothing. I write it for mainly for myself and for the people who find enjoyment in it. So, again, thank-you to my lovely readers. I really appreciate your love and your support <3

Though Berk’s dragon riders were prone to disagreeing on most matters, they had managed to all approve of one thing: They needed a base of operations. Being so far away from Berk made it too tedious to constantly fly back and forth between the areas. Not only that, but with winter approaching, they would eventually need shelter from the weather.

They searched for three days. On one island, they were chased by wild boars. Thanks to Fishlegs making a mistake with the map, they were nearly trampled to death by wild boars - _twice_. On yet another island, they _thought_ they had finally found the perfect base camp, but Ruffnut alerted them to the bountiful clusters of Blue Oleander, which was a deadly poison to the dragons. They were almost ready to give up when, on the third day, they came across a rather large island that didn’t have any obvious signs of trouble.

“These cliffs could work!” Astrid called as they did a fly-by inspection. “Good sight lines, easily defendable…”

“The location is great!” Fishlegs grinned, seeing the plentiful supply of rocks.

“An’ the earth looks incredibly fertile -that’d be good for an herb garden!” Thora chirped.

“It’s perfect!” Ruffnut agreed.

“Yeah…” Tuffnut narrowed his eyes, glaring suspiciously at the island. “ _Too_ perfect.” As the others looked at him, confused, he shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying, in the immortal words of the might Thora, ‘When something looks too perfect, it probably _sucks_!’”

Hiccup cocked a brow. “Uh…Yeah, you know? I’m pretty sure Thora never said anything remotely like that.”

“Oh really? How do _you_ know? Do _you_ know Thor? Have _you_ talk to him recently?” His tone had become somewhat snobby.

“…No, but that’s—”

“Well, because _I_ have!” Tuffnut continued. “Mhm. And I don’t recall him mentioning _you_.”

“Tuff, your weird dream the other night doesn’t count as talkin’ t’ Thor,” sighed Thora as she smacked her forehead. “Talkin’ with the gods doesn’t work like that. It’s far more complicated.”

He pouted at her. “Look, I just have a feeling about this place, alright?” he stated. “I think we _all_ know what happens when I get a feeling.”

Astrid snickered, rolling her eyes. “We ignore it?” Nodding her head towards the island, she and Stormfly started to lead the group down to land.

Thora gave Tuffnut an apologetic smile. “Come on, Tuff. This place can’t be _nearly_ as bad as Death Song Island,” she told him.

Still wearing the pout, Tuffnut directed Belch to move in unison with Barf. “Mark my words,” he said, his voice taking on a dramatic tone, “there  _will_  be something wrong with this island! Something mysterious; something horrible; something... _something_ _\--_!”

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. “Ya finished?” She reached over, lightly punching his arm.

Shaking her head, Thora quietly laughed under her breath and steered Death Dance towards the island. She tilted her head about, trying to listen for any unusual noises just in case. Hearing nothing, though, she smiled.

‘That’s a good thing,’ she thought. ‘Hopefully, it means that there’ll be no wild boars ready to trample us…Though, that also means we won’t have a tasty roasted boar for dinner.’ She frowned somewhat, but quickly shrugged it off.

Death Dance landed a few yards away from the other dragons, not wanting to accidentally knock them over if she hadn’t landed gracefully. Turning her head, she lowered herself to the ground so Thora had an easier time dismounting. She quietly clacked her jaws in content; she liked how the island felt so far. Something about it made her feel safe.

Thora, on the other hand, felt something completely different.

The second her feet touched the ground, her entire being was flooded with the cool, somewhat tingling sensation of magic. Gasping, she staggered backwards only to land on her hindquarters on the ground. She hadn’t _ever_ felt this much magic in one place -even Enda Fjarðarins paled in comparison. Even more than that, the magic here felt as if it were _begging_ to be used.

‘This…this is really strange,’ she thought, looking at the earth around her. ‘Why is there so much magic here? The other islands we’ve been to had normal amounts -except Death Song island. That had none for some reason. But if it’s practically pleading for me to use it…’

Biting her tongue, she hesitantly summoned the magic into her being. For the first time in a year, it came easily to her. Like water, it coursed through her veins, filling her with a strength she had nearly forgotten she possessed.

Thora stood up and hurried over to a large bush, an excited grin on her lips. She willed the magic to leave her body and flow into the shrub, shifting and twisting its branches around. The other, too preoccupied with trying to design a layout for their base, paid her no attention until she let out a cry of joy.

“Whoa! That bush is braiding itself!” Tuffnut cried, pointing wildly.

Ruffnut thwacked the back of his helmet. “You idiot -Thora’s using her magic!” she scolded. She then paused, her brows furrowed. “Wait.” Looking at Thora, her eyes suddenly widened. “Dude! You got your magic back!?”

“That’s great!” Hiccup cried, smiling happily. “Now you can really show us what your brothers taught you!”

Thora smiled as well, though it was an uncertain one. “I…I don’t know if the poison actually wore off or if this island just has so much unused magic, it’s comin’ t’ me easily,” she explained, running her hand over her hair. As she did so, the locks unbraided themselves before twisting back into one, single braid. “I’d have t’ go t’ a different island an’ try usin’ my magic there.”

Hiccup nodded in understanding. “Well, it’s too late for that,” he told her, “and it’s no bad thing for you to have a surplus of magic at your disposal right now. But!” He glanced at the rest of the group, putting his hands on his hips. “We really need to make camp for the night. Snotlout, Fishlegs -you two go fetch some firewood. Twins? You go get us some fresh water. Astrid and I will secure the perimeter. Thora? Can you start dinner?”

The others nodded, though grumbled, before heading off to their assigned tasks.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the island being perfect for their base in almost every way possible, they had run into one small problem by the second night: A new dragon species they called Night Terrors. Working as a single entity, the dragons followed the calls of their leader to take on the appearance of one, enormous dragon to scare away predators. The riders were able to train the flock leader, who Tuffnut named Smidvarg, and formed a friendly relationship with the dragons.

After that, a new problem arose: Finding building materials for their base. To almost everyone’s surprise, it was Ruffnut who saved the day. She and Tuffnut went back to Berk to gather some tools while the others stayed behind to build the foundations for their houses.

“Have you decided where your place is going yet?” Hiccup asked Thora. He watched, amazed as she easily used her magic to roll enormous boulders into place around what would become Fishlegs’ mud pit.

“Not quite,” she admitted. She slowly waved her arm before her and twisted her hand around; one of the boulders mimicked the movements, rolling a few feet before shifting to rest on a different side. “I’ve been too busy helpin’ the others.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an apologetic look coming to his features. “I’m sorry I didn’t find a place for you on the map I drew,” he told her. “I didn’t…I didn’t really know what kind of place you’d like.”

She lightly patted him with her tail. “It’s alright, Hiccup. I’m not terribly worried about it, t’ be honest. Though…I do rather like the look o’ that cluster o’ trees over there.” She nodded to a ledge that was partially hidden behind another cliff. “It’s got good soil an’ expose t’ the sun for a future garden an’ enough room for Death Dance t’ run around.”

Having to stand on tiptoe to see the spot, he shrugged. “It looks alright, but it’s not really around the rest of Dragon’s Edge. Shouldn’t you have somewhere closer?”

“Hiccup,” she chuckled, “it’s literally around a corner from the twins. I think I’ll be fine there.”

He didn’t seem so convinced. “But what if someone on patrol spots trouble and we need to fly out right away? You wouldn’t get the signal. Also, what happens if we get attacked? You’d be a sitting duck over there! The main base is going to have all sorts of defenses—” He was abruptly interrupted by a shout from the sky.

Turning, he and Thora could see two dragons flying towards the island. One of them was familiar -Barf and Belch- but the other was a stranger to them. It was also bigger than Death Dance, which worried them.

“Oh gods…I knew letting Ruffnut handle this was a bad idea,” groaned Hiccup.

Thora shielded her eyes against the sun, getting a better look at the dragon. “Are ya kiddin’? Hiccup, she brought a Timberjack!” she laughed. “That’s _exactly_ what we need right now!”

His eyes widened. “Wait, _what_? How did she get a Timberjack!?”

Leaving Fishlegs’ part of the base, they hurried to the beach. The twins and the Timberjack were just landing, surprised to see everyone and their dragons already present. Ruffnut didn’t mind; wearing a rightfully cocky grin, she hopped off of Barf before unstrapping a medium-sized trunk from the Zippleback’s back.

“Ruffnut! Where did you get a Timberjack?” Fishlegs gaped, staring up at the dragon in awe.

Though the Timberjack had no legs, it kept itself propped up on its two, massive wings. It looked at the group, tilting its head this way and that as it took in the sights of the unfamiliar humans and dragons. A soft, gentle purr left its throat and it lowered itself closer to the ground, letting the other dragons sniff it.

“He’s the Berg family dragon,” Ruffnut smirked. “I asked Kenna if I could borrow him for a week or two, since it’s no longer logging weather back on Berk. It took a little convincing on my part-” She winked in a not-so-subtle manner, “-but I finally managed to convince her it would be alright, since I knew how to handle him.”

Tuffnut rolled his eyes, somewhat slouched forward. “Yeah, that’s great and all, but did you have to do the ‘convincing’ in front of me?” He stuck his tongue out. “I’m going to have nightmares for weeks.”

The others cringed at the mental image.

“Er…So, what’s his name?” Thora questioned, trying to get them back on subject. She smiled, watching as Death Dance and the Timberjack sized each other up -the latter was a good twelve feet longer, though his head was nearly twice the size of Death Dance’s.

Ruffnut went over, patting the Timberjack’s tail. “Oh yeah! This guy’s name is Odd.”

“How odd can it be?” Astrid chuckled. “We’ve got a Night Terror named ‘Smidvarg’ for Thor’s sake.”

“No, no -His name _is_ Odd,” Ruffnut corrected.

“Are you not telling us because it’s so odd?” Snotlout asked, brow rising. “Or are you not telling us his name because _you’re_ odd?”

Ruffnut frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “No! His name is _Odd_!” She rolled her eyes before glancing over at Tuffnut. “And they call _us_ the mutton-heads?” Shaking her head, she crouched down and opened up the trunk. Inside was a variety of tools used for making lumber.

She then pulled out a pair of heavy, leather gloves as well as a leather apron. “Alright, so, Thora.” She put the apron on first. “You’re the magic-y one here. I need you to make some ovens out of stone big enough to hold lots of boards. Probably down here will be fine for now.” As she tugged on the gloves, she turned. “Hiccup, you’re good with math and stuff, so I’m going to need _your_ help when it comes time to slice up the trees into boards. I’m still not the best when it comes to dividing up round things.” Chuckling, she brushed a braid over her shoulder. “If the trees were square, I’d be awesome at it, though. Anyway!

“Snotlout, you and Hookfang are going to be in charge of the fires. Fishlegs, Astrid, and Tuffnut? You three get to be de-barkers.” Reaching into the chest, she pulled out a long, somewhat curved blade. “This is the best knife for getting large patches of bark off,” she explained. “You start at one end and just pull it towards you. Easy-peasey. I’m going to leave Astrid in charge of this one, unless you don’t mind Tuffnut staining the wood with his blood.”

“Now this one,” she pulled out a tool that looked more like a sharpened, short-handled hoe, “is used for removing the bark in big chunks.” She put a hand on her hip, using the tool to point accusingly at the group. “And, before any of you complain that bark is useless, it’s _not_. Elm and fir bark, especially, have various uses _including_ waterproofing a building. _Anyway_ , I’m leaving Fishlegs in charge of this one.” She handed it off before reaching once more into the trunk.

“And this, Tuffnut,” she said, holding up a small, chisel-like tool, “I’m leaving to you.”

His brows furrowed as he took it. “What am I supposed to do with this? Scrape the sap off my boots?” He ran his thumb along the edge, finding it barely sharp. “It’s not even sharp!”

With a sickly sweet smile, Ruffnut patted his cheek. “It’s to scrape off the bits of bark Astrid and Fishlegs miss,” she chirped. “Don’t want my brother hurting himself, now do I?”

Tuffnut’s cheeks turned red as he pouted. “That’s not fair! You know I can totally wield a big knife like Astrid or use that hoe you gave Fishlegs.”

“Tuff, while I know you’re perfectly capable of using a ho -nothin’ against Vendela, of course, she’s just doing her job- but I really need the bark removed _right_.”

“Oh, come on! How hard can it be to remove some _bark_?” He stormed over to a nearby tree and tried to pry some of its bark off. A quiet growl left his mouth as he wasn’t even able to peel the tiniest bit off. “Don’t make me look like a failure!”

Ruffnut raised her brow. “Uh…anyway…” She turned back to the others. “So, do you all understand your jobs?”

“How do I use this thing?” Astrid questioned, holding up her knife.

“Oh, that? It’s _real_ simple. See how the blade and handles point towards you? You pull it through the bark towards you. And Fishlegs, when we get the first trees down, I’ll show you how to peel the bark, alright?” She looked around, a proud look on her face. “Any questions? No? Good. C’mon, Hiccup. You, me, and Odd have a forest to chop down!”

Hiccup barely had time to sputter out a, ‘What!?’ before Ruffnut grabbed his wrist and dragged him off.

 

* * *

 

 

Thanks to Ruffnut’s (surprisingly talented) leadership, the group soon had more than enough lumber to build their base. Having Odd there greatly sped the process up, as he was able to not only chop down the trees and de-limb them thanks to his incredibly sharp wings, but also slice them into boards once Fishlegs and Astrid got the trees debarked. The ovens, Ruffnut said, had the sole purpose of drying the cut lumber so that it would warp less over time and have more structural stability.

Under her guidance, they had make a vast supply of lumber, bark, and whole logs in just under two weeks’ time. After that, they enlisted Odd and Death Dance’s help in lifting large platforms into place while the smaller dragons were able to hoist up walls or lower logs into place.

When the third week dawned, however, Ruffnut had to send Odd and the logging tools back to Berk, knowing Kenna would get upset if she kept them any longer. The whole group, save Thora, had decided to go with her back to Berk in order to gather more supplies. Despite an incident involving hypnotism, Fishlegs, and a wild Scauldron, it had been a fairly quick and successful trip.

 

It took nearly two months of building, but eventually the dragon riders and Thora all had their own huts, each with their own flair and style. They had also built a clubhouse for meetings and meals, a stable so the dragons had somewhere to stay, a set of docks should they ever have seafaring or dragon-less visitors, a boar pit for the twins, and a training dome. Though they could easily fly to each other’s’ huts, Hiccup and Astrid had made sure that all were accessible by foot as well.

Of course, things would have gone quicker if trouble didn’t keep finding its way to them. Gustav Larson, a cocky, Monstrous Nightmare-riding teenager, paid the group a visit that nearly resulted in the loss of the Dragon Eye, the loss of Hiccup’s hut to fire, and the loss of Gustav’s life. Shortly after that, it was discovered that the twins, thanks to an ancestor of theirs, owned the entire island. If it hadn’t been for an impending Fireworm infestation threatening to burn down the whole of Dragon’s Edge, they would have abused their powers as island owners -and, in the process, ruin their friendship with the other riders.

 

Now, three months having passed since they first landed on the island, the group was finally getting adjusted to life on Dragon’s Edge. It was the middle of winter, but the weather here was gentler than back on Berk. No harsh blizzards piled snow over their homes -in fact, there was more rain than there was snow, leaving the ground a muddy, slushy mess.

“Ugh…One thing I regret ‘bout makin’ my hut on solid land,” Thora murmured, kicking her feet against the outer wall of her house. Partially frozen mud splattered against the stone foundation. “Oh well.” Going inside, she shrugged off her cloak, using her tail to hang it on the wall.

As she passed by the hearth, she waved her hand over the cool wood. It burst into life, flames dancing along the charred logs. She glanced over her shoulder at the fire, smiling fondly before retrieving a few jars of whole seeds from one of her many shelves. With so much wet weather lately, the others had started feeling lethargic and a bit stuffy-nosed. Knowing this could only mean that sickness was on its way, she wanted to get a head start and get them some medicine to help shorten the length and severity of the illness.

Setting the jars on the table, she walked over to a different shelf, contemplating which of the dried herbs she would need.

‘I’ve already got the cloves, the anise, and the coriander,’ she thought, fingering one of her necklaces. ‘Do I want to use mint or horehound? Hmm…’ Her fingers moved from the glass beads to the metal ring, rolling it back and forth in contemplation. ‘Well, the mint and the cloves do basically the same thing, while the horehound is going to help with any coughs that may develop…’

“That settles it,” she murmured aloud. Dropping the necklace, she reached up and grabbed one of the jars. “Horehound it is. Hopefully the other ingredients will help mask its nasty flavor.” Her brow rose, though -the jar was lighter than it should have been. Holding it with her tail, she opened it only to curse. “This was full three days ago! What happened t’ all o’ it?”

Sighing, she set the empty jar on her table as she heard wingbeats outside. She tilted her head somewhat, recognizing the familiar clinking of Hiccup’s metal leg as he dismounted from Toothless.

“Come in!” she called before he had the chance to knock. Brushing some hair from her face, she went back to the shelf in hopes of finding more horehound.

Hiccup stepped in, looking rather sheepish. “Guess I need to work on my stealth, huh?” he joked. He looked around at the house; from the outside, it didn’t look like much. Just a door set in among stones and trees. Inside, however, it was warm and unexpectedly large. Thora had made floor-to-ceiling shelves out of interwoven tree branches -she had done the same for the second story, from the looks of it. Of course, she also had various bundles of herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling, letting them dry.

It made him think of Gothi’s hut back on Berk, only scaled up to suit Thora’s size.

She smiled. “Nah. A human wouldn’t have heard ya.” Her search yielding no spare horehound, she sighed. Running her hand through her hair, she put on a half-hearted smile and turned towards her cousin. “So, what can I do for ya?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “Ah, well…I need to talk with you,” he admitted. “About a couple of things. But…” He let out a sigh. “I’m not sure here is the best place.”

Her brow rose and she cocked her hip, resting her hand on it. “Why not? My house is far away enough from the others that you’re safe if you’re needin’ t’ talk about you an’ Astrid.”

“How did—What?!—Agh…” His cheeks had turned a bright shade of pink and Thora patted his shoulder with her tail.

“It’s alright,” she smiled. “What ya tell the healer, _stays_ with the healer.”

“It’s not _just_ about Astrid,” he admitted, glancing away from her. “I also need to talk with you about… _other_ matters. Ones that are just between you and me as—as future chief and future Völva.”

She stiffened somewhat, but nodded in understanding. She was more than a little surprised to hear Hiccup wanting to start seeking advice from her; growing up, it had always been the other way around. It didn’t surprise her, though -she _was_ supposed to become his Völva, after all.

Though, she was no longer certain she wanted to follow that path.

“Alright,” she told him. “Where were ya thinkin’ o’ havin’ this discussion.”

“I don’t know, really. In the air? On a different island? Just not…just not here.”

“How ‘bout this island?” She pointed to a map of the known area around Dragon’s Edge, at a small island to the north-west. “I ran out o’ horehound somehow an’ I know I can find some there, even in this weather.”

“Works for me,” he agreed. He then paused, a bit of confusion overcoming to his features. “What, horehound? Isn’t that that little leaf that tastes like crap, but helps with coughs?”

She smiled, grabbing her cloak once more. “Someone’s been readin’ my herb notes.”

Another sheepish grin came to his face. “Like you said, I can’t _always_ be thinking about dragons,” he joked. “Anyway, I saw the twins with a bunch of it yesterday. They were throwing it in with their dinner. I think Ruffnut thought it was something else, because they were _not_ happy with the result.”

Thora groaned, smacking her forehead with a curse. “I _told_ her the sage was in the _green_ jar on the elm shelf! Not t’ mention, this jar was _labeled_ with ‘horehound’!” Shaking her head, she sighed and shouldered her satchel. “Hopefully, they learned their lesson…An’ they should be thankful they didn’t grab the mugwort!”

Hiccup cringed. “What—what would have happened if they _had_ grabbed the mugwort?”

“Bad things.” She shrugged and waved her hand over the fire. The flames leapt towards her hand, leaving the logs entirely before simply dispersing into the air. “If they ate enough o’ it, it _could_ kill them.”

His eyes widened as he followed her outside. “Are you serious!? And you use that stuff for _healing_?!”

She airily waved her hand. “I said if they ate _enough_ ,” she assured him. “An’ it’s quite good when applied in salves outside the body.”

As they stepped out into the chilly air, they were greeted by the sight of Death Dance laying on her side, playfully swatting at Toothless with her wing. He darted back and forth, avoiding the swipes as he made his way closer to her face. Once close enough, he lightly smacked the end of her skull with his tail. Death rolled onto her back, making a laughing sound as she started to wriggle back and forth. Toothless hopped onto her stomach before slinking his way up her chest. She peeked down at him only to get her the end of her snout ‘booped’ by the smaller dragon.

“It’s a shame our dragons don’t get along,” Thora giggled, her brow rising. She wasn’t too excited to go fetch more horehound now that she found her Boneknapper covered in mud and slush.

“Oh, truly. They’re such _vicious_ enemies,” Hiccup smiled. “Toothless! Ready to go for a flight, bud?”

Both Toothless and Death Dance froze and looked over, their eyes wide with excitement. Toothless jumped off of Death Dance as she rolled over, covering the distance in just two leaps. Death Dance shook herself off, sending mud and slush flying to either side.

“Aye, we’re goin’, too,” Thora told her, seeing the expectant look in her eyes. “Give yourself another shake, though -ya went an’ got yourself filthy!”

Doing as instructed, Death Dance made sure to shake herself extra well, sending even more yuck flying through the air. She then brought her tail around, offering it to her rider. Thora stepped onto one of the bones and held on as she was lifted up to the dragon’s back. Thankfully, most of the dirt and slush had been removed; what little remained was easily removed with a wave of her hand.

“The perks of having a large dragon, eh?” Hiccup teased. He had already mounted Toothless and was wrapping a scarf around his face to protect it from the cold air.

“Ya could say that.” She shrugged, grinning as she pulled up her hood. As soon as she was settled, Death Dance took to the air, Toothless copying her.

It wasn’t a long trip to the island -only about a ten-minute flight- but neither of them spoke. If they uncovered their faces, the freezing wind would bite at their skin, making it painfully raw and chapped. Upon landing, they let out sighs of relief; now free of the bitter air, they removed their scarves and pulled down their cloaks.

“Alright, bud. We’ll be back in a little bit. You and Death Dance can stay here and play,” Hiccup told the dragons.

Thora cocked a brow, more than a little surprised by his orders. “Really? Ya normally bring Toothless with ya _everywhere_.”

He shrugged. “It’s not fair to leave Death Dance all by her lonesome here, since she’s too tall to go into the forest” he explained. “And she and Toothless have such fun together, I don’t feel bad letting him stay behind.”

“I’m sure Death appreciates it.”

As the two dragons began playing once again, the cousins started walking into the forest. There was less slush and more snow on this island. Under the trees, though, the snow was found in scattered piles, as it had fallen from the boughs above.

“So, business first or Astrid help first?” Thora questioned, keeping an eye out for any useful plants besides horehound.

Hiccup’s cheeks turned a bit pink once more. “If—If it’s fine with you, Astrid first.”

“ _You’re_ the one needin’ help, not me,” she reminded him. “It doesn’t matter which we discuss first.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “True,” he murmured. Sighing, he glanced skywards. “So, about Astrid…”

Thora glanced at him, saying nothing.

“I’m confused about her.”

“How so?”

“Alright, first thing’s first: I’m still head-over-heels for her. And I think she is for me, too? It’s hard to tell. One minute, we’re out flying and teasing each other and…” His cheeks darkened even more, “and stealing kisses, but then the next? The next she’s acting like there’s no romantic connection between us!” He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s confusing! I mean, we’re still friends in all cases, but—but I don’t know. This whole thing is confusing.”

Nodding in understanding, Thora pushed her hood up a bit. “Love is a weird thing.” Reaching up, she stole a handful of hanging moss from a tree limb. “When she starts actin’ like there’s no romantic feelings, what sort o’ situations are the two o’ ya in? Are ya around the other riders, people in general, by yourselves…?”

“Kind of all of the above. I mean, she’s kissed me a time or two around other people, but that was when we were younger. Now, though, it’s…” He shrugged, trying to think of a way to describe the situation. “It’s like she’s almost _embarrassed_ that she ‘likes’ me. Does that make any sense?”

“Hm.” She paused once more, grabbing more moss. “Don’t ask,” she told Hiccup as he gave her a confused look. “As for Astrid, I don’t think she’s embarrassed so much as bein’ cautious.”

“Cautious?”

She nodded. “Astrid’s a smart woman, Hiccup. She knows that, even though the two o’ you _obviously_ like one another, there _is_ a chance -an extremely _slim_ chance- Uncle Stoick would marry ya off t’ someone else t’ secure some sort of alliance should the need ever arise. Not only that, but there’s also the possibility o’ _her_ parents marryin’ her off t’ someone else.” With some effort, she was able to squish the moss into a tight ball before putting it into one of her satchel pockets.

“Dad would never!” Hiccup gasped, his brows furrowing.

“We’re at war with the Berserkers again. We’ve got enemies elsewhere in the Archipelago, an’ who knows who else lurks out here? There’s a chance we’re goin’ t’ need t’ reaffirm alliances an’ tradin’ agreements may not be strong enough if it means a chance o’ people losin’ their lives.” Sighing, she shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a slim chance -but it _could_ happen. _But_ ,” she glanced at her cousin from the corner of her eye, “knowing Astrid, this is more of a case of not wantin’ t’ be tormented.”

His brows furrowed even more. “Tormented? Who would torment—Oh.” He scrunched his nose up slightly, remembering how immature Snotlout and the twins could be at times. “Yeah, I guess they’re a good reason why she’d want to hide things…”

Thora patted his shoulder with her tail.

“But that still doesn’t make sense when it’s just _us_!” He slouched forward somewhat, an almost beaten look on his face. “She doesn’t need to be embarrassed or cautious _then_.”

“Who’s the one who usually initiates the flirtin’ an’ kissin’?” She narrowed her eyes slightly; there was a small patch of green coming up. From where they were now, it looked like the right sort of environment for horehound to grow in.

Hiccup cocked a brow. “Huh? What do you mean?”

She gave him a dull look. “Hiccup.” He still seemed bewildered, making her sigh theatrically. “When the two o’ ya are alone, is she the one who usually starts all the flirtin’ or is it you?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away guiltily. “Ah…her, usually,” he bashfully admitted. “That’s not to say I don’t try! I’ve kissed her first…a time or two.”

“But it’s normally her who starts it all?”

As he nodded, he still couldn’t bring himself to look at his cousin.

“By how guilty ya look, I’m fairly certain ya already know what I’m goin’ t’ tell ya.”

He stole a small peek at her. “That she probably wants _me_ to take the initiative and start the romantic stuff for a change?”

Thora said nothing, but wore a shrewd smile.

Hiccup quietly laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That I _can_ do, though…I don’t think I’m quite as bold as her.”

She shrugged. “Does it matter? She likes ya, so she’ll more than likely appreciate the effort.”

“I would hope!” he laughed. “I mean, I _do_ try. I’m just not, ah…the most _confident_ when it comes to stuff like that. I mean, I never really expected I’d ever be in a relationship -let alone, a relationship with _Astrid Hofferson_.”

“Hiccup, you’re preachin’ t’ the choir here,” Thora smiled. “If somethin’ feels right, _do it._ If she tells ya t’ stop, then ya _stop_. If she tells ya she likes it, then ya sure as Freya’s sacred garter better remember whatever it is for future use.” They were coming up on the green space now; upon closer inspection, though, Thora could tell it wasn’t horehound, but moss. She sighed, knowing it meant she’d have to keep searching.

‘Wait,’ she thought, brows furrowing. The ground looked rather freshly turned and the moss wasn’t right. ‘That kind of moss only grows on—’

Curses flew from her and Hiccup’s mouth as the ground beneath their feet suddenly gave way with a loud snapping sound. Snatching the back of Hiccup’s cloak, Thora pulled him against her and twisted them around. As they hit the ground some yards below, she received the brunt of the impact. A faint groan left her mouth as she lay there, momentarily stunned.

“What the…” Hiccup grunted, pushing himself up only to find that they were stuck in a deep, rectangular hole. “Oh gods. We’re in a pit trap.”

“Can’t…breathe…”

He blinked, looking down only to find that he was resting the majority of his weight on her sternum. “Oh gods, I’m sorry, Thora!” he cried, pushing himself off of her. “Are you alright?” He winced, feeling a sharp pain in his arm, though he paid it no heed for now.

“Give—Give me a minute,” she wheezed, her eyes screwed shut in pain. Her back and her lungs burn. There was also a dull ache in her leg, but it was the least of her worries at the moment.

Hiccup stood up only to tumble back against the dirt wall when he put weight on his peg leg. His brows furrowing, he looked down at his leg only to find that the metal had snapped. “How in the…”

Breathing slowly, Thora eased herself upright. Her torso still ached something fierce, but she could tell nothing had broken from the impact. “Are ya alright?” she slowly asked.

“I’m fine, aside from having a broken leg-” He winced as Thora snapped her head in his direction, eyes wide. “Broken peg leg!” he quickly corrected. “I meant a broken peg leg.” Smiling apologetically, he watched as she scooted back to rest against the wall. “My arm hurts, though. Pretty sure it’s because I landed on it funny.”

Thora motioned for him to crawl over to her. “Let me see it.”

He glanced up at the top of the pit. “Shouldn’t we try to get out of here first?” he asked. “After all, what good is looking for wounds when it’s dark down here?”

“Hiccup, just let me see your arm.”

Sighing, he crawled over and held out his arm to her. He watched and felt as she touched all along his forearm and bicep, gently squeezing the thicker areas as she searched for breaks or dislocations. As she squeezed near his wrist, he flinched.

“How bad is the pain?” she questioned, her touch getting lighter as she felt along his wrist.

“I’d give it an eight out of ten,” he shrugged. “A five if I don’t move it.”

“Definitely a sprain. I’ll need t’ bind it t’ keep ya from movin’ it an’ makin’ it worse.” Shifting her satchel so that it sat on her lap, she started to dig through it.

Hiccup, though, shook his head. “We’ll worry about it later. We need to get out of here first.”

“Hiccup, if I don’t bind it, the sprain could get worse. If it gets worse, that means it’ll have a higher chance o’ healin’ improperly. With this bein’ your dominate hand, we can’t have that.”

He frowned. “Really?”

She nodded, pulling a roll of bandages from her bag. “Aye. There’s even a chance o’ ya losin’ all strength in it completely if the sprain is bad enough.” Using her tail, she plucked up one of the broken boards that had held up the ground. A quiet curse left her mouth as she awkwardly snapped the wood into a smaller piece. “Hold out your hand, palm down. Keep your fingers relaxed. Aye, just like that. Now hold the wood in place for me.”

Sighing as he followed orders, Hiccup tilted his head back and looked at the pit opening once more. “This pit doesn’t make sense. We’ve been to this island before; we didn’t find anyone. A nice supply of boar and deer, yes, but nothing else…” He turned his attention back to his cousin. “Do you think the twins dug this? You know -to try and get boars for their boar pit?”

Thora shook her head. “It’s too fresh. Only a couple o’ days old. I noticed that detail too late, though.” Tying off the bandage, she leaned back. “How does that feel? Too tight?”

“Feels stiff, but not too tight,” he assured her, trying to flex his wrist. Unable to do so, he settled with slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers. “So you don’t think this was made by the twins? But who else-”

Thora suddenly wrapped her tail around his mouth, quieting him. Her eyes were somewhat squinted and she had her head tilted so that her ear pointed towards the sky. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. “Four, maybe five, men. They sound large. One o’ them sounds familiar, but I can’t put a face t’ the voice.”

Hiccup’s brows furrowed and he mumbled something against her tail, though it was too muffled for her to understand. A shadow fell across him and he gasped as he looked up.

There stood Savage with four Berserker men. Two of them were carrying large elk. The other two had loaded crossbows which they pointed down at their captive.

“Well, well, well!” Savage cackled. “Looks what we caught, boys!” He narrowed his eyes, sneering down at them. “Dagur’s going to be quite ecstatic when we bring the two o’ you back to the ships.”


	27. 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention it last chapter, for all my readers who have returned to school: I hope you have a good year! Remember, while grades are important, so is your health (both physical and mental) so please take care of yourselves and don't over do it~
> 
> Also, you're going to both hate and love me for this chapter~

“If ya don’t stop manhandlin’ him, I’m goin’ t’ throttle ya!”

Savage glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “An’ how do you suppose you’ll do that? You’re all tied up!”

Thora snarled at him, barring her teeth as she struggled against the ropes binding her arm to her torso and her tail to her unhurt leg. She tried to call some magic to her, but though the earth had an ample supply, it didn’t come to her. It tried, but it felt as if only a drop or two was willing.

A quiet hiss of pain left Hiccup’s mouth as the Berserker carrying him shifted him to the other shoulder. Thora glanced over at him, a worried look on her face.

“How bad does is it hurtin’?” she quietly asked. Like her, Hiccup’s limbs were bound with rope, though they hadn’t been at all gentle when it came to tying his injured wrist.

“Pretty bad,” he admitted, “but I’ve had worse. I’ll survive.”

“We’ll see about that,” Savage told him. “Dagur’s been needin’ a new target for his knife-throwin’. Who better else t’ be the target than his mortal enemy?” He and the other Berserkers snickered.

Thora rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Hiccup, but I hope he kills me first so I don’t have t’ listen t’ this suck-up’s poor attempts at scaring us.”

Savage spun around, slamming his fist into her stomach. She bent over somewhat, groaning in pain. A smug grin came to Savage’s face as he watched her try to get her breath back.

“Been wantin’ t’ do that since Alvin kidnapped ya,” he taunted. “Now that you’re no longer Dagur’s lil’ pet, I suggest keepin’ your mouth shut -or I’ll do more than knock the wind out o’ you.”

“Bastard,” she wheezed. Once more, she tried to summon some magic.

This time, it came to her.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for a bit of revenge. Savage turned around and began leading them off once more. Thora smirked; a tree root rose out of the ground and caught Savage’s foot. A strangled yelp left his mouth as he toppled forward, his jaw impacting with the earth. Thora heard at least one of his teeth break.

Grumbling curses under his breath, Savage hurried to his feet. “What’re you lookin’ at?” he snapped at the others. “C’mon. Let’s get goin’.” Once more beginning to walk, he spat on the ground; part of a tooth landed in the dirt.

Thora glanced over at Hiccup, finding an amused smile on his lips. His eyes, though, were filled with pain and she bit her tongue.

‘Come on, gods…don’t do this to me,’ she thought, turning her gaze down to the ground. She attempted to summon some magic for a third time, but it was obstinate and remained in the earth. ‘Let the magic come to me. Let me get us out of this mess! I need to make sure Hiccup’s wrist is going to be alright…’

The magic confused to refuse her calls. She whispered a curse under her breath, her nose scrunching up somewhat. Biting her tongue once more, she tried to wriggle her wrist against the rope. That earned her a swift kick to the calf, making her swear in pain. The dull throbbing that had caused her to limp now turned into a burning pain. It was more tolerable than the ache, but it made her limp worse.

Not long after, they stepped out of the forest and into the island’s northern fields. Some two hundred yards away was the ocean -and Dagur’s fleet. Closer than that, though, was a small sea of tents, all of them flying a Berserker flag. From the middle of the tents, a familiar, skeletal head reared up, pulling against dozens of sets of chains.

“Death Dance!” Thora gasped, lunging forward. She growled as she was roughly pulled back by the Berserker.

“Oh, you’ll see her soon enough,” Savage told her, an almost singsong-tone to his voice. “An’ that Night Fury -that is, if Dagur hasn’t already mounted its head on his wall!” He cackled as Hiccup snarled at him.

“If he touches one scale on Toothless’ body, I’ll-” he started, but Savage cut him off.

“You’ll wot?” He leaned over, becoming level with Hiccup’s face and sneering. “You’ll hop after me on that one leg o’ yours? Or maybe you’ll send ugly over there after me?”

Hiccup opened his mouth to speak, but was once again cut off -this time, by Thora.

“It’s not worth it, Hiccup,” she told him, sighing. She knew she was risking getting hit again, but she’d rather take the blows than Hiccup, especially when he was injured. “He’s filled with empty threats. He’s not the one we have t’ worry about.”

Savage glared at her as he drew a knife from his belt. “How would ya like it if I cut out your tongue?” he threatened, stalking towards her.

Narrowing her eyes, she smirked, making her teeth look extra sharp. “I’d like t’ see ya try,” she calmly replied. She winced as Savage snatched her jaw in his hand and painfully squeezed her cheeks, his fingers too short to reach the joints.

“Then open up,” he hissed, squeezing harder. Thora tried to keep her mouth shut, but the pain was too great. She grunted, her lips parting just enough for Savage to ready his knife-

“Savage!”

He spun around, his eyes wide as he hid the dagger behind his back. “What is it?” he demanded, seeing Fylkir standing with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

‘Doesn’t look like these two trust each other very much,’ thought Hiccup and Thora.

“I see you’ve caught the dragon riders as well as some dinner. Good.” Fylkir motioned at the two Berserkers guarding Thora and Hiccup. “You two. With me. I’m sure Savage and his hunters will fix us a _hearty_ meal.”

Savage frowned as the two men started to walk forward. “Oi! I found them in _my_ trap -I should be the one to present them t’ Dagur!”

Fylkir’s brow rose. “After I caught you very nearly cutting out Miss Thora’s tongue? I don’t think so. Come along, boys.” He turned his back, leading them off.

“Y-ya remember me?” Thora questioned, brows furrowed somewhat.

He glanced over his shoulder, somewhat grinning. “It’s hard t’ forget someone like you, Miss Thora, especially after ya willingly healed your enemies.”

A small smile came to her lips, though she said nothing in reply.

They were brought to the center of the tent-city, where Death Dance and Toothless were being held. Both dragons were bound by many chains and, in Toothless’ case, a muzzle. Upon seeing their riders, they tried to run over, but found themselves rooted to the spot. Death Dance once more reared her head back, a muted roar rumbling out from beneath her skull, but the chains did not give.

“It’s alright,” Hiccup told them as he was set on the ground. He wobbled, trying to maintain his balance on his one foot. “We’re fine, guys. Just stay calm, alright? Now’s not the time to cause trouble.”

Though they were still clearly on the defensive, Death Dance and Toothless laid down on the ground. Their riders could tell that they were ready to pounce at any second, given the chance.

“How’re we going to get out of this?” Hiccup whispered as Fylkir disappeared into the largest tent -Dagur’s. “I didn’t tell the other riders we were leaving, let alone where we were going!”

She bit her tongue. “An’ magic isn’t really likin’ me right now,” she murmured. “I can think o’ two ways we _might_ get out o’ this, but…”

He glanced up at her. “What are they?”

“The first is tryin’ t’ talk our way out o’ this -or, as da’ calls it, yak-shittin’ our way out o’ trouble.”

At that, he cringed. “I’m not sure it’s best to follow Gobber’s advice in this sort of situation,” he told her, being cautious to not offend her. “What’s the other way?”

“We could make some sort o’ negotiation with him. Make some sort o’ exchange, that would appeal t’ him. Medicines an’ food in return for our release -that sort o’ thing.”

“Yak-shitting our way out of this it is,” Hiccup mumbled.

Biting her tongue, Thora could hear muffled voices from inside the tent. She would have been able to hear them clearly if there wasn’t so much activity taking place around them. Dagur, from the sounds of it, didn’t sound entirely surprise -but he was certainly enthusiastic.

She glanced down at Hiccup. His eyes were full of fear and worry, but he faced the tent with his jaw set and lips drawn thin in determination. She thought he looked very much like a younger version of Stoic, especially with how he tried to keep his shoulders squared and his head held high -a difficult task when he was struggling to balance on one foot.

‘How can we get out of this?’ she thought, chewing on her tongue. ‘…This…this can be a good chance to start trying to bring Dagur to our side! But how? Patience, kindness, and love. How can we use those right now? _We’re_ the ones tied up.’ Her arm twitched, wanting to reach for her necklaces for comfort. Her eyes widened as an idea came to her. She knew Hiccup wasn’t going to like it -in fact, he was going to _hate_ it.

And she was, too.

But it was the only way she could get them both out of the situation with total safety _as well as_ start trying to get Dagur on their side.

“Maybe,” she whispered, unable to look down at Hiccup, “maybe I have a different sort o’ exchange that would work…”

“I’m all ears,” Hiccup told her.

Before she could speak, though, the tent flaps were thrown open as Dagur and Fylkir stepped out.

“Brother!” cried Dagur, his arms outspread. “You’ve no idea how _happy_ I am to see you! And on _my_ island nonetheless?” He chuckled, lightly shaking his head. “You’re starting to take after Thora here!”

Hiccup glimpsed over at Thora, whose cheeks had darkened somewhat. “If we had known you were here, Dagur, we would have left without a second thought.”

He feigned a pout. “Aw, still mad at me for trying to kill little Gustav and his dragon?” He then snickered. “Come on! He betrayed you!” Chuckling, he lightly shook his head once more and put his hands on his hips. “He deserved such a fate. After all, what use are betrayers? They go against you once and you can’t trust them ever again -unless you want a knife in your back, that is.”

“Gustav is still young and reckless,” Hiccup told him, doing his best to stay calm. Something about being around Dagur always managed to make him feel more annoyed than normal. “He regrets the actions he took, proved he regrets them, and has apologized. He doesn’t need to _die_ over it.”

Shrugging, Dagur glanced away. “To each his own, I guess. But if he ever stabs you in the back…” His expression suddenly changed into a wicked smirk. “Oh, that’s right. He won’t have the chance!”

Hiccup quietly growled. “Dagur, let us go. We’re worthless to you right now -I don’t even have a peg leg to stand on! How is that going to make me fun to kill?”

His brow rose. “Now who said anything about _killing_?” he questioned, his tone innocent. “Oh, no, _brother_ -You’re going to be my slave. And your Night Fury? _Mine_.” He then glanced over at Thora, as if noticing her for the first time. “The question is, what do to with _her_.” Again, the evil look overtook his features, sending a shiver down Thora’s spine. “ _You_ , my trollish princess, have betrayed me in the past and-”

“I have an offer for ya,” she suddenly spoke, interrupting him.

Dagur was taken aback by her abruptness. “An offer?” he repeated, blinking in surprise. He then narrowed his eyes in distrust. “What kind of offer?”

She glanced around the area; Berserkers were absolutely everywhere as they went about their assigned tasks. “One I’d rather speak about in _private_ if ya didn’t mind,” she answered, her voice quiet. “But, I can promise ya it’ll be worth your while.”

Hiccup glanced at her, his brows furrowed. He wondered what kind of exchange she had planned and he felt himself growing more worried.

Dagur was silent for a moment as he looked her over. Their last meeting had left him feeling less motivated to kill her, though he was still quite mad at her. Maybe torturing her would suffice? After he heard what she had to offer, of course -she had piqued his curiosity. 

“Alright,” he said at last, crossing his arms. “Untie her and bring her into my tent.”

“Thora, be careful,” Hiccup worriedly commanded. “You know as well as I do how dangerous he can be.”

Thora nodded in understanding. “I’ll be careful. I promise. But I got t’ warn ya,” as her tail was freed, she used it to pull the loosening ropes from around her torso, “if this works an’ we walk free, you’re goin’ t’ be really angry at me.” She started to walk towards the tent, but Fylkir blocked her path.

“I’m sorry, Miss Thora, but you heard Dagur. I need your cloak,” he told her.

Sighing, she unpinned her cloak while using her tail to lift her bag off. Both she handed off to Fylkir, who was surprised by the satchel’s weight. “Be careful with my bag,” she cautioned. “I’ve got all sorts o’ jarred medicines an’ potions in there. If any o’ the jars break, bad things could happen.” It was a lie, but the startled look on his face let her know he had believed it.

Taking a deep breath, she walked, alone, into Dagur’s tent. She was met by warm, spicy air and the sight of many animal pelts strewn about the ground to act as a carpet. Of course, he also had dozens of weapons stored on racks in each corner of the tent.

In the center of the room, there was a table at which Dagur was sitting. With his feet propped up and his hands behind his head, he looked very much at ease. There was a grin on his face as he watched her gingerly sit in one of the other chairs, but it quickly faded when he realized something.

“What…what happened to your arm?” he questioned, removing his feet from the tabletop and sitting upright. He almost seemed worried as he stared at her shoulder.

Thora, though, merely looked down at her left side and shrugged. “Lost it in the war.”

“How did I not notice that before?”

Again, she shrugged. “I was wearin’ my cloak, which is good at hidin’ things.” She shifted her weight somewhat, hearing the chair creak. It held fast, though, and she allowed herself to relax somewhat.

Dagur glanced up at her face, his brows furrowed. “What sort of injury means taking the _whole_ arm?”

“One that left the entire thing shattered beyond hope,” she answered. “But my arm isn’t why we’re here. We’re here because I have a…a _proposal_ for ya.”

Lifting one of his brows, he leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Your proposal. What’s it going to be?” He smirked. “I do hope it doesn’t involving stealing my favorite crossbow after snogging me.” Mischief filled his eyes. “I’ll wouldn’t mind a snog, though.”

She felt her cheeks grow dark and she bit her tongue. “It’s—it’s not _quite_ that,” she told him. Taking a deep breath, she felt her head swim slightly -the air was heavy with cloves and cinnamon. She absolutely _hated_ how much she had grown to love that smell. Closing her eyes, she sighed. “In exchange for releasin’ Hiccup, the dragons, an’ me - _unharmed,_ mind ya _-_ I’ll…I’ll marry you.”

Dagur’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He said nothing; instead he just stared at her. For many minutes he was quiet, making Thora begin to wonder if the shock had killed him. But when he at last closed his mouth and eyes, shaking his head, she knew he was still alive.

“You’ll…you’ll _marry_ me?” he finally repeated.

“Aye.”

His brow then slowly began to lift. “But only if I let you, Hiccup, and the dragons go without harm?”

She nodded.

“Now isn’t that a little _counterproductive_?” he chuckled, crossing his arms. “I mean, if I marry you, I’m not going to let you go prancing off! I _know_ you won’t come back!” He burst into a cackling fit. “It’s like you think I’m _stupid_ or something!” All humor fled from his face, replaced by an angry snarl.

“You’re a lot o’ things, but _stupid_ isn’t one o’ them,” she told him. Her eyes flitted over to one of the racks of weapons and she swallowed hard. In truth, she hadn’t thought much beyond the initial proposition of marrying him in exchange for their freedom. ‘I’m the stupid one,’ she thought, biting her tongue. ‘Why did I even think this would be a good idea? Damn it…’

Leaning forward, Dagur rested his elbows on the table, his brow still raised. He wore a cocky grin as he plopped his chin atop his palms. “You didn’t really think this through, did you?” he teased, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes. “You thought you’d manage to talk your way out of this with false promises like before. Well, guess what?”

Thora gasped, leaning away from him as he suddenly shoved the table aside. Grabbing the arms of her chair, he loomed in front of her, lips drawn back in a sneer.

“ _It’s not going to work_ ,” he hissed, his voice dangerously soft. “You and Hiccup are _my_ slaves now. Your dragons are under _my_ control—”

“I swear t’ Æsir an’ the Vanir I’m not lyin’ t’ ya,” she quickly told him, her voice just as quiet. “Let us go an’ I _will_ marry ya. I _will_ be your wife, Dagur. Your _willing_ wife. I’ll marry ya right here with Fylkir an’ Hiccup as witnesses. As for lettin’ us go? I’ll—I’ll spend weekends with ya. _Every_ weekend. If I’m lyin’, let Freya herself strike me dead.”

Though she made such a dangerous assurance, he didn’t seem convinced. “As _my_ wife, you should spend _all_ your time with me.”

She raised a brow. “That can’t be helped. I still have _my_ duties t’ _my_ people.”

Dagur fell silent once more. He knew he would never be able to convince her to stay with him fulltime -at least, not without a death threat against someone. And since he wasn’t going to kill Hiccup (it wouldn’t be fun, killing him. It’d be over far too quick for all the pain and humiliation the Hooligan had caused him), he currently had no one else to use as a barter.

Thinking over her proposition, he raised his hand. He lightly brushed his knuckles over her cheek, watching as she struggled to not lean into his touch. She was being quite the enigma, he thought, both hating him and, yet, craving his touch. He smirked.

“Tell me, Thora,” he murmured, watching as her eyes shut entirely when he ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw. “Just why is that you’re willing to go to such lengths to make sure Hiccup’s safe?”

She could feel the heat of his breath against her skin and she swallowed hard. How was he able to do this? To make her _enjoy_ this? “He’s my family,” she whispered, shivering as his fingers ran down the side of her neck. “I’d do _anythin’_ for my family an’ friends.”

“Hm.”

Dagur suddenly pulled back and Thora opened her eyes. She almost reached out to pull him back, but she resisted the temptation. Biting her tongue, she instead grabbed her necklaces and started to fiddle with them.

With his back turned towards her, Dagur casually ran his finger along an ax blade. “So, you swear to the gods that you’ll be my wife - _should_ I agree to let you go.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “But, to make up for that, you’ll spend _weekends_ with me?”

She nodded, but said nothing.

“See, the problem with that plan,” he began, lifting the ax from its place, “is that you and your dragon are too big for my ships.” He knelt down, picking up a whetstone that had been knocked to the ground when he flipped the table. “Well, Death Dance is, for certain. You? You’re just too tall. You’d have to duck the entire time.” A teasing grin came to his lips as he flopped down into his chair once more, draping his leg over its arm. “That is, unless you don’t _mind_ being bent over for some periods of time…”

Thanks to his insinuation Thora’s cheeks grew hot once more. “We can meet in neutral territory,” she retorted, frowning, “in a place where it’s _just_ the two o’ us -an’ Death Dance, o’ course.”

Sharpening his ax, Dagur tilted his head. “Just the two of us and your dragon, huh?” He glanced up at her. “And how am I supposed to know you won’t tell your little group of friends where we are so they can ambush us?”

“ _Neutral_ territory, Dagur. No fightin’ allowed.” She ran her hand over her hair, sighing as she allowed herself to recline a bit. “An’, because it’d be neutral territory, we wouldn’t talk about what the other is plannin’. No business. Just… _normal_ conversations.”

“And just where would we find this ‘neutral territory’?”

She shrugged. “We pick an island an’ declare it such.”

“ _Every_ weekend?”

“Every weekend. Saturn’s Day morning to Sun’s Day night.”

His brow rose and he glanced up at her, pausing in his sharpening. “Frigga’s Day night to Moon’s Day morning.”

She bit her tongue; of _course_ he’d try to get more time. “I’ll agree t’ that.”

Once more, Dagur fell silent. The only sounds heard within the tent were that of their breathing and the whetstone sliding across the ax blade. The heavy canvas of the tent muffled much of the sounds outside, making Thora shift uncomfortably.

After what seemed like forever, Dagur stood up and finally replaced the ax on the rack. He tossed the whetstone back onto the ground before walking to Thora.

“You have yourself a deal,” he told her, smirking as he held his hand out to her.

Biting her tongue, she hesitantly reached out and took his hand. A quiet gasp left her mouth as he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. Dagur wore a triumphant grin as he gave her a quick kiss.

“Let’s draw up the marriage contract, shall we?” he murmured. “Then we’ll tell brother Hiccup the _wonderful_ news.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hiccup sighed, impatiently drumming his fingers against his jaw. Fylkir had taken some pity on him and had brought him a barrel to sit on, but his wrists remained bound. It wasn’t a very comfortable situation, but he wasn’t about to complain. Instead, he shifted his weight every few minutes, mentally urging his cousin to hurry up.

‘ _What_ is taking them so long?’ he thought. He hadn’t liked how Thora told him her plan would make him angry. ‘What kind of deal is she striking with him? Or did he not like it and that’s why there was that crash earlier?’ He shuddered; he didn’t want to think about the possibility of his cousin getting hurt. ‘No. If he hurt her, there would have been more commotion.’

Glancing over his shoulder, he checked on the dragons. They, too, were staring at the tent. Toothless had his eyes narrowed and his head tilted; Hiccup knew he was trying to listen in on the conversation. Death Dance, on the other hand, had smoke furling from her nostrils -not that she could breathe her fire with her mouth chained shut.

‘Everything’s going to be fine, Hiccup,’ he told himself. ‘You’re all going to get out of this and everything is going to be just _fine_. Maybe that crash was Thora attacking Dagur? No…No, she wouldn’t do that. Not after she lobbied so hard against dad to keep him alive. Maybe she broke a chair? Yeah -that had to have been it. She broke a chair back home because we didn’t know it couldn’t hold her weight…’

Sighing again, he shook his head. ‘Why did Freyr have to tell her there was a way to tame him? He’s Dagur the _Deranged_ -you can’t _tame_ deranged!’ Glancing at the sky, he plopped his chin into his palm. ‘I know I told her that I’d rather have Dagur alive than dead, but…but I’m starting to think that dad’s right. It may just be better if Dagur was-’

The opening to the tent flipped back as Dagur and Thora stepped out. Hiccup narrowed his eyes; Dagur’s arm wrapped around his cousin’s waist. His brow then rose in curiosity -he was also holding a roll of parchment. A map, maybe? His eyes widened in horror at the thought. Did Thora give him the location of the edge!?

“Gather ‘round everyone!” Dagur called, wearing the largest grin Hiccup had ever seen on his face. “I have _wonderful_ news for you all!”

Fylkir helped Hiccup to his feet as well as helped him over to the crowd that was forming around Dagur and Thora. For a Berserker, Hiccup thought, Fylkir didn’t seem to be that bad of a guy. He was still an enemy, however, and Hiccup kept his guard up just in case. When they approached the pair, Thora gave Hiccup a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Frowning, he found that, besides the smile, she wore a look of unenthusiastic success.

‘Oh gods, Thora…what did you do?’ he worriedly thought.

Once a suitable number of people had gathered in the area, Dagur stepped forward, holding aloft the parchment, his knuckles white as he tightly clenched it. “Do you all see this scroll?” he called out, a look of wildness in his eyes. “Do you know what words have been written on this parchment?”

No one answered outright, but murmurings of ‘a peace treaty?’ and ‘a treasure map?’ could be heard, making Dagur giggle.

“This parchment is a written agreement between this gorgeous woman and myself,” he called out. “An agreement that we will seal before you all today!” He glanced at Hiccup, the look a mixture of menacing and mirthful. “That’s right. Your dear Chief Dagur is _finally_ getting married.”

“WHAT!?” Hiccup cried, eyes widening in horror.

Dagur chuckled, proudly resting his fist on his waist. “That’s right, _brother_ -we’re going to be in-laws!” He grinned happily. “Isn’t this exciting?! We’ll be family _and_ archenemies!” Beginning to laugh, he wrapped his arm around Thora’s waist and pulled her against him. “But don’t you worry your little freckled face -there is a downside to this.”

“And what would _that_ be?” Hiccup growled, his hands balled into fists. He wanted to lung forward and hit the grin off his face. “Because, so far, this is _all_ sounding like a downside.”

It was Thora who spoke, though she was unable to bring herself to look at Hiccup. “I’ll only be spendin’ weekends with him,” she explained. “The rest o’ the week, I’ll be with ya an’ the others.” She ran her hand over her hair, biting her tongue. “But, at least we’ll be able t’ safely leave!”

Hiccup glared at her, his lips drawn tight in displeasure. “You and I are having a _very long_ conversation when we get back to the base,” he warned her quietly. He cringed as Dagur suddenly came over, throwing his arm around his shoulders.

“Aw, cheer up, Hiccup!” he chirped, giving him a half-hug. “I know you don’t approve of me, but should you really be so sour-faced on Thora’s _big day_? Be happy!” He then nudged him in the ribs, winking suggestively. “Perhaps you and your little blonde Valkyrie will be next, eh?”

“Dagur,” Thora sighed, “I need t’ get back t’ our base soon. The others are sick an’ need medicine, so if we could get t’ the marriage part…”

He nodded in understanding, stepping away from Hiccup. “Of course, of course! Your duty is to your people, after all.” His brow rose and he wore a bit of a smirk, turning to his men as he tucked the contract into his belt. “The ceremony is going to be altered somewhat, as we don’t have much time. Also, in place of a ring, Thora will take my leather circlet instead.”

“Uh, sir?” Savage pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “We don’t have a Völva or a witch with us. How is the marriage ceremony supposed t’ be performed?”

Dagur cocked a brow, giving Savage a look of unimpressed astonishment as he used both arms to motion at Thora. “ _Hello,_ Savage! I’m _marrying_ a witch! _She’s_ going to perform the ceremony.” He then rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath about how idiotic his men could be at times.

Hiccup struggled against his bonds, ignoring the pain in his wrists. He couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. Thora was going to marry _Dagur_?! Their freedom wasn’t worth that -he would gladly be Dagur’s slave if it meant keeping his cousin away from him.

‘She always has to take the brunt of pain if it means keeping her loved ones safe,’ he thought, swallowing hard. ‘It’s one of her flaws…but it’s also one of her strengths. But damn it! Why does she have to care about people so much?!’

He kept his mouth shut as Thora held out her hand. Dagur clasped it in both of his, looking up at her with a mixture of victory and admiration. Her voice somewhat shook with uncertainty as she recited a marriage blessing, using her tail her make the sacred mark of Frigga over their clasped hands. She then knelt down, closing her eyes as Dagur pulled a leather band from around his belt.

“In the name of Frigga, I take you, Thora Gobbersdotter, as my wife. May your family become my family and my family become yours,” he recited, using a surprising amount of care as he tied the leather around her forehead. He took extra caution to not let any of her hair get entangled with the knot. “With this circlet, I swear to honor you and to cherish you. I swear to protect you from any that mean to harm you and I swear to never let my heart stray. You are my friend, my love, my life.”

‘Yeah, _friend_ ,’ Hiccup thought, unconsciously drawing his lip back in a silent snarl. ‘She’ll never be your friend, _brother_.’

Dagur helped Thora to her feet, a rather tender expression on his features. Thora let out a small, quaking breath before saying her own vows. Hiccup couldn’t tell, but she also doing her best to call forth some magic.

“In the name o’ Freyr, I take ya, Dagur the Deranged, as my husband. Let our families become one an’ may they bless our union.” She again held out her hand and Dagur eagerly clasped it. His eyes then widened in surprise; her hand was unnaturally cold and he felt a strange, tingling sensation on her palm. “With this pendant, I swear t’ honor an’ t’ cherish ya,” she continued. Dagur began feeling the cold creep up his arm, towards his neck; he could see a weird, blue light flowing against his skin and he did his best to resist swatting it away. “I swear t’ tend t’ ya in times o’ sickness an’ in times o’ health. You are my friend, my love, my life.”

As she finished speaking, Dagur looked down only to find that he was now wearing a necklace. It was simple, but strange at the same time. The pendant, made from amber, was shaped into a protective rune. It hung from a chain that almost appeared to be made from rock. He glanced up at Thora, his brow rising. Before he could question her about it, though, she leaned over and kissed him.

Hiccup looked away, sticking his tongue out of his mouth as a round of cheer filled the air. He knew it was more than a little immature of him, but he didn’t care. This whole mess was starting to make him feel sick from stress and worry -or, maybe he was finally coming down with the bug the other riders were down with? Either way, he felt queasy.

“Can I have my things now?” Thora questioned, shivering against the winter air. “An’ can Hiccup an’ the dragons be untied now?”

Dagur grinned, making a motion to some of his men. “Free the dragons. Fylkir, bring my _wife_ her cloak and bag.”

Thora bit her tongue, looking over at Hiccup. He looked paler than normal and she wondered if the mixture of his injury and being outside for so long were starting to take their toll on him. Going over to him, she undid the ropes around his wrist while using her tail to keep him upright.

“You an’ Toothless will probably have t’ hitch a ride from Death,” she sighed. “I know ya can’t fly without your leg.”

“So long as we get out of this place,” he muttered.

“M-Miss Thora?”

She looked up, seeing Fylkir approaching with her things. Thanking him, she pulled on her satchel and her cloak. With her tail occupied by holding up Hiccup, she struggled to get her cloak pinned in place. Hiccup reached up to help her, but he was beaten.

“Maybe we should find you a pin that’s a little easier to use, hmm?” Dagur chirped, pulling the bear skin close to Thora’s body and adjusting it somewhat. Then, taking the pin from her hand, he put it in place. “Your dragons are all ready to go. And, just like I promised, I won’t be sending any of my ships to follow you.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hiccup grumbled. “Now if you could just divorce Thora, we could call it a day.”

Dagur cracked up. “Oh, Hiccup, you always manage to bring the funny!” he laughed, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “You really ought to be more happy, brother! If it weren’t for lovely Thora here, you would be crawling around on all fours and kissing my boots like a dog!” He smiled almost evilly. “You really wouldn’t want to be doing that now, would you?”

“I’d prefer it, actually.”

Thora set her hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “Don’t test him,” she said. She then moved her hand, pressing the back of it against his forehead. “Hm. Aye, it’s time t’ go. I need t’ get some medicine in ya. Come on; let’s get ya onto Death Dance.”

Dagur followed alongside them as they made their way to the dragons. Both Toothless and Death Dance eyed him cautiously, quietly growling as he drew nearer. Death Dance held her tail out to Hiccup, waiting for him to grab hold before lifting him. She then extended her tail out, allowing Toothless to climb on.

Before Thora could climb on, though, Dagur grabbed her around the waist once more. Setting a hand on the back of her head, he gently pulled her down and kissed her deeply. “I’ll see _you_ in a few days,” he murmured as he pulled back.

“Aye, ya will,” she replied, standing upright once more. “I’ll be there before sundown.”

“I’ll have dinner ready,” he teased, watching as she climbed aboard Death’s tail. “Fly safe, my _beloved_!” he called out as the Boneknapper took to the air. He sighed, resting his hands on his hips.

“S-Sir? Why did you let her fly away?” Fylkir questioned, brows furrowed.

Savage nodded in agreement. “Yeah! As your wife, shouldn’t she remain here? She’s queen o’ the Berserkers now.” He let out a halfhearted, nervous chuckle, daring to nudge Dagur in the ribs. “Not t’ mention, the two of you have to _consummate_ the marriage t’ make it fully legal an’ binding.”

Dagur turned, heading back for his tent. “She’s not queen _yet_ ,” he corrected, his voice dark. “After what she put me through, she has to _earn_ that title. But, I let her go because it’s part of our contract.” He scrunched his nose up and pulled the contract from his belt. Glaring at it, he sighed. “We signed it in blood. I _can’t_ break it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“ _What_ were you thinking?! Do you know how _foolish_ and _dangerous_ this plan of yours was!?” Hiccup paced back and forth in Thora’s hut, running his hands through his hair in aggravation. “What if he tries to break the contract, Thora? What’re you doing to do then? You’ll be his wife _and_ his prisoner!”

“He can’t break the contract,” she calmly told him. As she spoke, she ground the seeds she had pulled out earlier. “Even if he wanted to, he can’t -unless he wants the gods t’ strike him dead.”

Hiccup stared at her for a moment, his brow rising. “That’s…not reassuring at all, actually. If he can’t break the contract, that means _you_ can’t break it, either!” He cursed, kicking the wall with his good foot. Upon arriving back on the Edge, Thora had fetched him his spare peg leg. “Why?! Why did you go and do this?”

“Ya know as well as I why I did this.” Her tail reached up, grabbing the jar of mint she had decided against earlier. “Stop movin’ your hand so much or I’m goin’ t’ fully bind it.” Using her teeth, she opened the jar and poured the entirety of its contents into her mortar. She started to grind everything together; Hiccup didn’t notice that she was using a bit more pressure than needed. “I did it t’ keep Toothless an’ ya safe, Hiccup.”

He shook his head, sighing as he leaned against the wall. “There had to have been another way, Thora,” he quietly told her, his anger diminishing with her words. “There had to have been something _other_ than you marrying him!”

“There were a few things runnin’ through my mind, but all o’ them would have born similar results. Hand me that flask, please.” Sighing, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Though, they would have been…less _pleasant_ on my part.”

Hiccup picked up the flask hanging on the wall, handing it over to her. “So you instead chose a more permanent solution?”

She shrugged. “Thank-ya. An’…Like I said: It was the only option that seemed like it would be beneficial.” Once more, she used her teeth to uncork the stopper. As she poured a bit of the liquid into her mortar, the air was filled with the heavy scent of ginger. “This way, I can work on tryin’ t’ get him t’ be our ally. An’, since we agreed t’ no business talk -aye, that means I _won’t_ be doin’ any spyin’- maybe…just _maybe_ I’ll find some way t’ better connect with him an’ form an actual friendship.”

He watched as she corked the flask and went back to mixing up the medicine. “Do you know what dad and Gobber are going to say when they find out?”

Her brow rose as she glanced at him, a humorless laugh leaving her mouth. “O’ course I do. They’re goin’ t’ yell at me. They’re goin’ t’ reprimand me. Berate me. Call me foolish. Try t’ drag me back t’ Berk or even send me back t’ Enda Fjarðarins.” She swallowed hard; her eyes were beginning to sting with tears. Biting her tongue, she got up to grab another ingredient from across the room. “They’ll have every right, o’ course -or, at least they’ll think they will. But I belong t’ Dagur now.”

Sighing, Hiccup ran his unhurt hand through his hair and slid down to the floor. “Of _course_ this whole mess had to happen the day I wanted to talk about Dagur,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Why do the gods hate me…?”

“They don’t hate ya,” she quietly reassured him. Grabbing a large, clay pot, she returned to her seat. “They hate _me_. At least, the goddesses do.” She lifted the lid to the pot, revealing its contents to be honey.

His brow rose. “Why would they hate you? You’re going to be a Völ—” His eyes suddenly shot open and he recoiled back in realization. “Ooh…”

Thora nodded, adding just a bit of honey to the medicine. Thoroughly mixing it together, she lifted the mortar with her tail. She carefully poured the contents into a wooden bowl -save for a single spoonful. That spoonful she poured into an empty mug.

“But…There are plenty of Völvur in the world! What’s the big deal about _one_ woman not becoming one?” he argued.

She shrugged. “You’re askin’ _me_?” Sighing, she stood up and grabbed her kettle. Putting it over the flames of the fire, she then limped back to her chair and moved to take off her boot. “Freyr told me he thinks it’s because I…because I haven’t exactly been _chaste_ the last few years.”

“Freya’s a goddess of love and lust. Why would she care?”

She leaned over, attempting to undo the leather wrapped around her boot. “Because Völva aren’t supposed t’ have lovers. They’re not supposed t’ have a romantic life! They’re supposed t’ dedicate themselves t’ the arts o’ magic an’ healin’ an’ nothin’ else. An’ guess why my sorry arse went an’ did? Fell in love.

“I found the _one_ person in the whole o’ Midgard who saw past all my flaws an’ whatnot an’ fell in love with him. Gave myself t’ him. An’ then? …Then, I lost him.” Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks by this point. “All because Völva aren’t supposed t’ have love lives. Oh, but they’re allowed t’ perform sex magic! We’re supposed t’ be virginal, yet we’re allowed t’ do sex magic?! Tell me, Hiccup: How the _fuck_ does that work?” Grumbling, she struggled with the laces only to hear a metallic ‘clunk’. Her brow rising, she shifted her leg to revealed part of Hiccup’s broken peg leg.

“So that’s how it broke,” he murmured, crawling over to help her out. “Sorry.”

“Eh.” Using her sleeve, she tried to wipe away her tears; it was done in vain.

Untying the laces for her, he unwrapped them from the fur and pulled the boot off. He winced; she had a large, red bruise on her calf. “Found the reason for your limp.”

She sighed, twisting her leg to get a better look at it. “No poolin’ o’ blood an’ no broken skin…I’ll slather it in witch-hazel on it an’ it’ll be fine in a few days.” Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead in her palm. Her shoulders shook as she held back a sob. “I’m sorry.”

He began working at undoing her other boot. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I just wanted t’ protect ya.”

“I know, Thora. I know.”


	28. 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was going to cover the entire weekend, but I decided splitting it up would be best. I'm not sure if that's going to happen every time a weekend chapter happens, soo...yeah. 
> 
> Also, a fair warning: There *is* a sex scene in this chapter. If you're put off by sex scenes, just scroll past to the scene change bar~

“Ugh, we have to take _more_ of this stuff!?”

“Ya know it helps ya feel better.”

“But it tastes _disgusting_! It’s worse than Ruffnut’s cooking!”

“Hey, my cooking is edible, you-” Ruffnut was interrupted by a coughing fit. It ended with her flopping backwards into her pillows, wheezing. “Alright. Give me the medicine.”

Thora quietly laughed, handing her the mug of hot medicine. “Remember t’ let it cool down a bit.” She handed a second mug over to Tuffnut, who sniffed loudly. “Do either o’ ya think you’ll be up for some solid food today?”

Tuffnut groaned as he took a sip of the medicine. “Maybe some bread with our broth,” he answered. “Not sure my stomach’s _quite_ ready for meat just yet.”

“No bread for me,” Ruffnut mumbled. “I tried a little this morning and-” she let out a tired cackle, “-you don’t even want to _imagine_ how bad _that_ smelled. Went right on through.”

Thora stuck her tongue out in disgust. “Thanks for that…” she murmured. “Anyway, I’ll be sure t’ let Fishlegs know what t’ bring ya for dinner.”

Both twins frowned, staring at her as she went to add some wood to their fire. “Wait, what?” Tuffnut questioned.

“ _Fishlegs_ is going to be the one feeding us?!”

Thora nodded, using a metal shovel to scoop the coals closer to the heart of the hearth. “Aye. Snotlout’ll be helpin’ him, too.” Glancing over her shoulder, she gave them a somewhat motherly look. “Ya had best be nice t’ them, too. If they hadn’t recovered so fast, you’d be stuck havin’ t’ take care o’ yourselves. An’ we all know how _that_ would end up.”

“But _why_?” they whined in unison.

“You’re our healer. You’re _supposed_ to take care of us!” Ruffnut argued. She stuck out her tongue as she sipped her medicine. It tasted awful, but the heated liquid soothed her sore throat.

“Yeah!” Tuffnut agreed, crossing his arms with a pout. “It’s _your_ job! You’re supposed to give us medicine, give us soup, give us sponge baths, read us bedtime stories, rub our feet if they’re aching-”

Ruffnut cocked her brow and interrupted him. “Uh, Tuff? She’s not our wife. She’s not going to rub our feet or give us sponge baths.”

He shrugged. “Well, she _should_. That’s what good healers do.” His arms still crossed, he shoved himself further into his pillows. “But, _no_. Thora’s _abandoning_ us.”

Biting her tongue, Thora clenched her eyes shut. “It’s not like I _want_ t’ leave the lot o’ ya here while you’re sick,” she quietly told him, thankful her back was still to them. “I _have_ t’ go. I made a blood oath. I can’t break it.”

“A…A blood oath?” Ruffnut repeated quietly.

Looking at one another, Ruffnut and Tuffnut found their twin wearing a concerned expression. They both knew blood oaths were serious things -if a person who made a blood oath broke it, their punishment was death.

Tuffnut glanced between his friend and his sister, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to what he was about to ask. “What kind of blood oath?”

Rubbing her face, Thora sigh and stood up. She and Hiccup had already told the other riders what had transpired earlier that week. For some reason, though, the thought of telling the twins made her nauseous. She knew she had to tell them, though; she just prayed they wouldn’t think differently of her because of it.

“Remember the other day, when Hiccup an’ I came back t’ the Edge an’ his peg leg was broken?” She started to tidy up Tuffnut’s half of the room; he had always been the messier twin.

They nodded, but said nothing.

“Well, we got captured. By Dagur’s men.”

“Oh no…Don’t tell me you made a blood oath with _him_!” Tuffnut frowned. Feeling a tickle in his throat, he took a swig of medicine. “I mean, _I’m_ not even crazy enough to make a blood oath with _him_!”

Using her tail to help her, she folded one of his spare blankets, draping it over the footboard of his bed. “It was either make the oath or let Hiccup an’ me become his slaves,” she told him, voice quiet. “So…I struck a deal with him an’ made the oath.”

Ruffnut’s eyes slowly narrowed as she watched Thora begin folding a pair of Tuffnut’s clean, but tossed aside, trousers. She had noticed that Thora had been acting a bit differently over the last few days, but she thought it had been part of her fever delirium. One thing in particular about her friend stood out, though: The circlet around her forehead. It looked familiar, but at the same time, not.

‘Blood oath…new circlet…Dagur the Deranged…’ she thought, trying to patch together the pieces. ‘A deal to make sure she and Hiccup walk free…having to leave for the weekend—’ Her eyes shot open and she bolted upright, knocking her mug of medicine to the floor. The mug, made of clay, shattered as it hit the oak floor.

“YOU MARRIED DAGUR!?” she tried to shout, but her hoarse throat made sound more like a cat yowling. Thora cringed at the sound, her tail twitching.

Tuffnut’s jaw fell slack. Unable to say anything, he just stared at Thora, dumbfounded.

“Aye, I married him,” Thora sighed. Kneeling down between their beds, she started to pick up the shattered pieces of clay. “An’, as such, I’ll be spendin’ weekends with him.” She could already hear the liquid slipping between the floorboards, landing on the floor below.

The twins watched as she held the mug pieces in her hand, a faint, blue light enveloping them. The mug began to reform and what remained of the spilled medicine flowed up into it. She stood up and moved to toss the medicine out of the window, since it had been spoiled.

“So…” Tuffnut rubbed the back of his head, unsure, really, of what to say. “So, like…what do we call you now? Lady the Deranged? Lady Deranged? I mean, neither of those really suit you. You’re more like ‘Lady Slightly-to-the-Left-of-Sane’, if you ask me.”

Thora paused, taken aback by the comment. A few seconds later and she started to giggle before bursting into a full laughing fit. Sliding to the floor, she continued to laugh, making the twins grow even more concerned for her wellbeing.

“Oh gods, Tuff…” she wheezed a few minutes later, holding her stomach. “Ya have no idea how much I needed that.”

His brow rose. “Evidently, you _really_ needed it,” he replied, brow cocked. “Sheesh. How long has it been since you had a good laugh?”

“Too long, apparently,” Ruffnut answered for her. “That wasn’t even all that funny. Sure, it was worth a giggle, but a full laughing and snorting fit?” She dismissively waved her hand before pulling her blankets up to her chin. “I’ve heard better.”

Thora wore a small, grateful smile as she looked up at them. “Aye, but ya have no idea how stressed out I’ve been,” she admitted. “Between worryin’ ‘bout you lot an’ my impendin’ stay with Dagur…” She pushed some hair out of her face, sighing. “I needed a laugh.”

A small smile came to Tuffnut’s face. “Glad to help. Just…just be careful, alright?”

“Yeah,” Ruffnut added. “We may be the king and queen of danger, but—but this is pretty dangerous. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “I’ve got a plan. It’ll take time t’ see if it works, but…but if it works, we’ll hopefully have a new ally.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dagur impatiently tapped his foot, his hands on his hips as he searched the skies. He knew it would be hard to see the Boneknapper against the mottled white and grey of the clouds, especially with it being late afternoon. But still, he looked and scowled in annoyance.

‘She’ll be here,’ he thought. ‘We signed the contract in blood. She can’t back out of this.’

Being the impatient person he was, Dagur had arrived on the island that morning. He had given his men orders to remained moored out in the bay and to not step foot on the island until they saw his flaming arrow. With nothing much to do, he had explored a decent portion of the island, looking for a good place to build a shelter.

Not only had he found an _excellent_ place for shelter, but it was also in a rather _romantic_ place -at least, _he_ thought it romantic. Only time would tell if Thora found it such. One drawback, though, was that it was in a somewhat precarious location; they would have to walk under a waterfall to get to it.

“I hope she likes it,” he murmured, beginning to pace. He paced parallel to the river that fed the waterfall, being careful to not slip in the mud. “I know this marriage didn’t start off on the best foot, but I really do want her to be happy…” Narrowing his eyes, he glared at a tree in the distance. “So long as she stops _lying_ to me, that is. Tells me that she’ll make an alliance with her brothers and my people and that she thinks I’m a great leader—”

He suddenly stopped his pacing and inhaled quickly through his nose. Slowly letting the breath out through his mouth, he held his hands out, trying to calm himself.

“That’s all in the past now, Dagur,” he told himself. “Thora’s your wife now. And it’s clear she’s attracted to you.” He chuckled, running his hand over his hair. “Except now, there’ll be no crossbows to steal or contracts to sign. Just me and her.”

Turning around, he clenched his fists and stared at the sky yet again. He was about to let out a frustrated yell, but it quickly turned into a holler of joy: There was a Boneknapper flying towards him.

‘Stay calm, Dagur,’ he thought, doing his best to regain his composure. ‘You don’t want her to think you’re _too_ eager for this. You got to act cool. Otherwise, she’s going to think you’re just a big dork. A _handsome_ dork, but still a dork nevertheless…’

He watched as Death Dance landed some yards away, staring at him warily the entire time. As Thora climbed down, Dagur saw that she was once again wearing her heavy bear cloak, which she pulled closer to herself as she walked towards him. She also still wore the leather circlet, bringing a smirk to his lips.

“I apologize for bein’ late,” she told him. As she walked, she checked the island’s magic, testing it to see how well it would cooperate with her poisoned self. “I had t’ bathe before comin’ here.” She was pleased when she was able to summon forth a layer of magical warmth.

“You said before sundown, and it’s before sundown,” he replied, grinning. “While I waited for you, though, I found the absolutely most _perfect_ place for our new home away from home.”

Her brow rose. “Is that so?” A small squeak left her mouth as Dagur suddenly pulled her against him, a rather suggestive grin on his face.

“Oh, trust me -I _did_ ,” he told her, a bit of a purr to his voice. He lightly ran his knuckles against her cheek, feeling her shudder at his touch. “ _And_ it’s in an incredibly _romantic_ spot.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he turned and started to lead her off, his arm still around her waist.

“Y-You’re leadin’ me t’ the edge o’ a cliff!” she frowned.

He held her tighter, trying to make her feel safer. “Yes _and_ no. Look.” Using his free hand, he pointed out a narrow path that led right under the waterfall. “I’ve already explored it. The cave is huge! And surprisingly dry. It’ll be _perfect_ for us.”

She bit her tongue, her brow rising in uncertainty. “Dagur, that’s a fairly narrow path there. An’ the waterfall is fairly loud. I don’t know how well I’d be able t’ handle the sound…”

“It’s not once you get in the cave,” he chuckled. “Just trust me on this.”

Closing her eyes, Thora let out a heavy sigh. ‘A cave would be an easier place to live in than in that tent I brought,’ she thought. ‘And it is pretty well protected from anything wanting to raid our food or something…But the sound of that water is so overwhelming! I can barely hear Dagur and I’m right _next_ to him.’ She bit her tongue. ‘That path is far too dangerous, too. Leave it to Dagur to think _dangerous_ equals _romantic_. But…I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and at least _look_ at it.’

“Let me make an alteration,” she finally told him. “I don’t feel at all safe with that path.”

His brow rose. “An alteration? What do you me—”

Dagur’s eyes suddenly widened and his jaw fell slack; the trail was pushing its way out of the cliff, becoming wider. Along its edge, the stone climbed upwards, creating a natural-looking barrier that would keep them from plummeting to certain death. Beside him, Thora grunted, the sound pulling him out of his stupor in time to catch her as she started to fall.

“Whoa! Easy there, Thora.” He looked at her, eyes full of worry. “Are you alright?” He shifted her slightly, keeping her off the ground.

She nodded, though a thin sheen of sweat covered her face. “Just…just a bit—a bit out o’ breath,” she panted. “I’ll…I’ll explain later.” After a taking a minute to catch her breath, she was able to stand and walk on her own.

Taking hold of her hand, Dagur led her down the newly remodeled path. He kept glancing over his shoulder at her, wanting to make sure she was still alright. As they drew nearer to the cascading water, he could see a bit of pain coming to her features.

‘Thank the gods it’s quieter in the cave,’ he thought. ‘I always forget that trolls have superb hearing…And if it’s still too loud, I’m sure we could find somewhere else…’ He frowned at the idea. ‘But anywhere else isn’t going to be as nice as this cave.’

“Here it is!” he said as they walked beneath the curtain of water. “Isn’t it great?”

Thora’s blinked, finding herself rather surprised. The cave _was_ fairly quiet and quite large. Dagur had already built a fire, making the air a bit warmer than outside. He had also already brought in his supplies, having stockpiled most of it near the wall of the cave. She walked further into the cavern, looking around at the different nooks and crannies that could be used for storage or even for beds and tables.

“Well?” he asked, wringing his fingers together in anticipation. “What do you think? Isn’t it nice and big and quiet?”

Lowering her hood, she turned to face him. “It’ll work,” she said. “I’ll have t’ make a few adjustments -mostly t’ keep the heat in an’ the sound out- but…it’s pretty good.”

“We’ll make it as comfortable as you want it,” he told her, grinning proudly. “Because we’re going to be spending a _lot_ of time together here, and what kind of _husband_ would I be if I let my _wife_ be uncomfortable?”

“There’s just one problem, though.”

He suddenly frowned. “There is?”

“Where’s Death Dance goin’ t’ stay? She can’t fit in here.”

Dagur’s brows furrowed. He had completely forgotten that she was going to be staying there as well instead of just dropping Thora off. “Ah, well…I’m sure we can come up with _some sort_ of accommodations for her.”

Thora’s brow rose, not impressed by his answer. Saying nothing, she walked past him and started back up the path. She could just barely hear Dagur scrambling after her, but she continued to walk.

“She’ll get a nice, warm roost!” he told her, catching up with her. “That’s what she sleeps in, right? A roost? Or she does sleep in a nest like a chicken? I’m not really sure what dragon living arrangements are like.” He almost tripped over his own cloak, but caught himself. “The tent I brought should be large enough to make a decent blanket for her if we rip the seams!”

Thora bit back a grin as she glanced down at him. She couldn’t help but find herself amused at his attempt to fix his blunder, let alone how panicked he looked. Saying nothing, however, she continued to walk, letting him keep on with his nervous chattering as she started to unbuckle Death Dance’s saddlebags.

“I _promise_ I’ll start working on a nice spot for her in the morning.” He grunted as Thora handed him two of the saddlebags; what did she have in them!?

“Take those t’ the cave,” she gently ordered.

As he walked off, she could hear him scolding himself, making her chuckled. Then, with a sigh, she looked up at her dragon. “Death, love, I’m goin’ t’ need a seat.”

Death Dance quietly clacked her jaws before laying down and stretching out one of her wings. She kept her head turned so she could watch as her rider sat down. Soft, blue light engulfed her; setting her hand on the ground, a trail of magic flowed through the snow and mud to a spot some yards away.

The earth began to shake and rumble. Slowly, the ground changed shape. An enormous hole slowly appeared, the dirt that had once filled it now climbing skywards. Pillars of rock grew out of the earth, helping to support the earthen walls.

Death Dance softly purred, concerned for Thora. Her rider was breathing heavily and shook with exertion. Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned in time to find Dagur standing, dumbstruck, at the head of the trail.

The rumbling and shaking stopped. Before them now stood an earthen shelter: Death Dance’s new roost.

Thora fell back against Death’s wing, her eyes clenched shut as she struggled to catch her breath. The magic came to her, yes, but not easily. A great deal of concentration and force of will was needed to summon it to her, let alone to make it do what she wanted.

Suddenly, she was lifted off the ground. Tiredly opening her eyes, she found that it was Dagur who had picked her up; she hadn’t expected him to lift her so easily. She let her eyes fall shut again, trying to get her breathing under control.

A few minutes later, she was set down on a rather soft surface. Grunting, she opened her eyes to find that Dagur had laid her on a pile of furs. She tried to sit upright, but he gently pushed her back down.

“You need to rest,” he told her, worry both on his face and in his voice. He leaned back on his haunches, running his hand over his hair. “I told you I could have built her something.”

“Didn’t…didn’t want her to freeze,” she murmured, shifting so that she lay on her side. The sweat on her skin made the air feel even colder and she tried to huddle into a ball so her cloak could cover more of her. “Dragons…don’t really like cold. Boneknappers especially…”

He let out a sigh. “I’ll go get the rest of your things. You just stay here and rest awhile, alright?”

She nodded, watching as he got up and left the cave. ‘That was stupid of me,’ she admitted, ‘but I wasn’t about to let Death freeze tonight. It wouldn’t be fair to her.’

After a few minutes, she was able to sit up. Keeping her cloak pulled close, she once more looked around the cave. The furs she was on had been lain across a raised ledge, a good place for a bed in her opinion -it would stay dry if any moisture managed to get into the cave. For being behind a waterfall, it was surprisingly dry, though. The only dampness was at the cave’s edge where the fall was.

‘The solid rock must be why the noise is dampened,’ she thought. ‘When I get some more strength back, I’ll make the outer wall cover more of the entrance to further dampen the noise and to help retain more of the heat.’ Squinting, she peered through the dim light at the far reaches of the cave. ‘Good thing I brought some lanterns…Hm. Not sure anywhere in here would be good for bathing or for relieving ourselves. Or rather, not enough privacy.’

She shrugged. It would be just another thing for her to do with magic. Of course, she hadn’t expected either of them to find the perfect shelter straight away -that’s why she had brought a tent with her. She had to admit, though: She much rather preferred the idea of reworking a cave to suit her needs rather than having to agree on a house layout with Dagur.

“Ugh, what did you pack in these things?”

Thora looked over at the cave entrance, finding that Dagur had returned with her other two saddlebags. “Those two have food stuffs an’ cookware,” she answered.

Setting the bags down, Dagur let out a sigh of relief before stretching his back. “And here I was thinking _I_ brought a lot of stuff,” he grinned. Crossing the cave, he plopped down next to her on the furs and not-so-subtly snaked his arm around her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” she admitted.

“Does using magic _always_ do that to you?”

She let out a quiet sigh. “No. I used t’ be able t’ use magic without any trouble at all.”

His brow rose. “Why the trouble now?”

Tilting her head back, she pointed at the scars on her throat. “These were made with a poisoned blade. Only, the poison was supposed t’ be eaten, not delivered through cuts. The function o’ the poison is t’ temporarily disable a person’s magic so they can’t use it - _not_ kill them.” She ran her hand over her hair, sighing. “Well, since it got in my blood, it’s effects have been stayin’ with me. I _can_ use magic, but it can be hard at times. In some places, I can’t use it at all because o’ how stubborn the magic is. In other places, it’s like I was never poisoned.”

Dagur’s brow remained raised as he listened to her explanation. “So, the harder the magic is to use, the greater toll it takes on you?” She nodded. “That’s no fun. Isn’t there an antidote for the poison?”

“No. Ormr tried t’ make one, but nothin’ was effective.” She leaned back against the wall, bringing a knee to her chest. “It’s been just over a year since I got these an’ the effects have only worn off a wee bit. Only the gods know when -or _if_ \- it’ll wear off completely.”

He pouted, also leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Guess Berserk won’t have a powerful witch for a queen like I planned,” he muttered, a bit of brattiness to his voice. He was promptly smacked by Thora’s tail.

“Do ya honestly think I _planned_ on gettin’ myself poisoned?” she snapped.

He shrugged. “You did tell me that you were going to become a powerful witch and would help me return Berserk to its former glory,” he replied, voice cold. “Of course, that turned out to be a lie -one of the _many_ you’ve told me.”

Shrugging again, he put his hands behind his head and crossed his legs out in front of him. “How do I know this isn’t just some story you’ve fabricated because it turns out you’re actually just a _mediocre_ witch, hmm?” A grunt left his mouth as Thora suddenly grabbed the neck of his cloak, shoving him further against the wall.

Her eyes were narrowed dangerously as she growled out, “I did _not_ spend three years o’ my life relearnin’ everything I had ever been taught in order t’ use magic an’ t’ use it _well_.” Letting go of his cloak, she stood up and stormed to the other side of the cave, keeping her back to him. “I didn’t suffer pain an’ heartache t’ become a _mediocre_ witch. If didn’t have this poison in my veins, Dagur, I could _easily_ raze this island t’ the ground!”

Dagur was silent for a few minutes, staring at her in shock. He had never seen her like this before -she had always managed to keep her temper fairly even. His hand unconsciously rose to his neck, fixing his cloak where she had grabbed it. Swallowing hard, he stood up and put his hands on his hips, the shock on his face being replaced by coldness.

“You’ll understand that I’m going to have a hard time taking your word on things,” he finally said. “Even _you_ have to admit that you’ve lied to me quite a bit. I think I have more than enough reasoning to be wary -even if you’re now my wife.”

Turning to face him, Thora used her tail to pull her sleeve up her arm. She quickly brought her wrist against one of her tusks, slicing open the skin. “With this blood of mine, I swear t’ no longer lie t’ ya -unless it be for purposes regarding gifts or surprises. If I fail t’ uphold this oath, may Freyr himself strike me down.” As she spoke, the blood flowed down her skin and dripped onto the ground where it formed a glowing puddle.

Dagur had seen her do this once before -when they had signed the marriage contract.

“I accept your oath,” he told her, a pleased smirk coming to his lips.

The blood ceased glowing. Seconds later, the puddle vanished from the floor and Thora’s wound healed over. She swallowed hard and turned away from him yet again, going over to her saddlebags. She began rummaging through them.

Likewise, Dagur went over to his own pile of supplies and gathered up more firewood. Carefully feeding the fire with it, he unpinned his cloak and tossed it onto the fur pile before sitting down in front of the flames. Watching Thora, he saw her pull a large roll of something from one of the bags. She used her tail to hold it while continuing to search through the bag.

“What are you doing?” he questioned.

“Unpacking,” she replied tersely. At last, she pulled a few cushions from the bag. Standing, she went over to the pile of furs and started to rearrange them slightly before dropping the large roll atop them. When it was unfurled, Dagur saw that it was her own supply of animal pelts and blankets. She continued to move the bedding around, her nose scrunching up whenever it didn’t seem quite right.

While she tended to the bed, he got up and went back to his own supplies. From a leather bag, he pulled out a cast iron cooking pot. ‘This isn’t going as well as I had hoped,’ he thought, frowning. ‘Not only is she unable to use much magic without making herself exhausted, but now she’s also upset with me -though, I’m the one who should be upset with _her._ I had every right to not believe her story!’ Pulling a small knife from his belt, he used it to pry open the lid of a barrel. From inside, he gathered some smoked meat, carrying it back to the fire. ‘After all the lies she’s told me, does she honestly think I’d believe her so easily?’

Shaking his head, he set the meat and pot down before going to gather more ingredients. Thora soon brought over a bit more food -mostly vegetables and spices- silently helping him to cook. She was rather surprised he knew how to cook, actually -most men only learned how to roast meat while chieftains usually didn’t do _any_ cookery.

Soon, they had a pot of stew cooking away over the fire. It would still be an hour or so until it was ready to eat, however, so they both worked at unpacking the rest of their things. Neither spoke yet, both still stewing over their earlier tiff.

It was Thora who finally broke the silence, announcing that she was going to go check on Death Dance. Not giving Dagur the chance to reply, she hurried out of the cave and up the path. A sigh left her mouth and she ran her hand over her hair as she looked at the sky. The sun had set and night was beginning to stake its claim on the sky.

A tiny smile came to her lips when she found Death Dance curled up in her roost, looking as comfortable as ever. The Boneknapper lazily opened an eye as she heard someone approach before poking her head outside the structure to greet her rider. Seeing the annoyance on Thora’s face, she softly clacked her jaws and nuzzled her.

“I honestly don’t know if I can make it a whole weekend with him,” Thora murmured, petting the warm bone of Death’s skull. “I know I _have_ t’, but…he’s bein’ such a prick! Sayin’ I’m tryin’ t’ cover up bein’ a _mediocre_ witch!” She cursed under her breath, scrunching her nose up. “He has _no_ idea what I went through t’ learn all that magic an’ what I went through losin’ it…”

Death softly purred, nuzzling her once again.

“Aye, I suppose you’re right,” Thora mumbled. “He doesn’t know what _I_ went through, an’ I haven’t the slightest about what _he_ went through.” She glanced over her shoulder at the path; it was empty. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against Death’s snout. “I know I’m supposed t’ be patient an’ kind with him. But it’s hard, Death. He’s so unpredictable!”

Gently snorting, Death blew a bit of smoke at her rider, making her shiver. She then plopped her head on the ground, shifting her wings in such a way that made it seem like she had shrugged.

Thora’s brow rose and she chuckled quietly. Using her tail, she lightly smacked the side of Death’s skull. “It’s easy for you -ya can stay out here, away from him. I have t’ go back in there an’ be his wife.” She ran her hand over her hair again. “But—but I guess I _should_ try talkin’ t’ him. Maybe get him t’ tell me what happened t’ him on Outcast Island. If I find out what happened t’ him there, it may shed some light on a few things? …An’…I suppose I should tell him more about what happened t’ me in Enda Fjarðarins, eh?”

Yawning, Death Dance tiredly looked at her rider. She dragged her head back inside her roost, tucking it under one of her wings.

“Oh, _thanks_ ,” Thora giggled. “Just go ahead an’ fall asleep on me. I don’t mind.”

The Boneknapper made a sort of laughing sound from under her wing, but didn’t move.

“Well, I’m glad _you’re_ comfortable. Just don’t stray too far come mornin’, alright?” Shaking her head, she turned and started to walk back towards the cave. With night falling, the air was quickly growing even colder, making her shiver despite her heavy cloak.

Stepping back into the cave was a surprising relief from the cold, though the air was still too chilly for her liking. Dagur glanced up at her as she sat down on their bed, pulling some blankets over herself before leaning back against the wall. He opened his mouth to ask her if Death Dance was alright, but before he could speak, Thora was enveloped with blue light.

A grinding sound filled his ears and he looked for its source. It came from near the waterfall, so he squinted, trying to see better through the dim light. What he saw was the rock wall of the cave sliding across the edge of the cliff, closing the gap that was the entrance. Soon, the opening was only large enough to allow Thora through.

Thora let out a quiet curse, her body shaking under all the furs and blankets. Weakly, she pulled them closer to her, trying to warm herself.

‘I thought the winters in Enda Fjarðarins were bad,’ she told herself, ‘but they don’t compare to how cold I am right now…But, that’s what I get for overusing my limited magic, I guess.’

“Are—are you alright?” Dagur slowly asked, unsure if she was still upset with him.

She was, of course, but she didn’t let her voice betray it. “Just cold,” she replied. “An’ tired.” Opening her eyes, she watched as he used a spoon to lift the lid of the pot before stirring the stew. A bit of its scent drifted towards her, making her stomach loudly growl. “…An’ hungry, evidently.”

“It’ll still be a while yet before the stew’s ready.” He put the lid back on before getting to his feet.

Thora swallowed hard as he crawled onto the bed towards her. Reaching over, Dagur gently lifted her chin and lingeringly kissed her.

“I’m sorry tonight isn’t going the best,” he whispered against her lips. He kissed her again, letting his fingers slide into her hair. “I had hoped our first night together wouldn’t be so—so _angry_.” He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

Biting her tongue, Thora felt herself lean into his touch. “I…I think I know a way t’ fix that,” she quietly told him.

“Oh?”

“We—We don’t know each other too well. At all. An’ a lot has happened t’ us both over the last few years. So…maybe we could take turns, askin’ the other questions about things.” She let out a quiet sigh as he shifted, placing his head in the crook of her neck. “Things that spouses should know about each other.”

His brow rose and he tilted his head back, looking up at her. “That is a fairly good idea,” he told her. “Would we be allowed to ask _anything_?”

“Aye, though I think if it’s a subject that we’re not comfortable talkin’ about just yet, we’d be allowed t’ pass it.”

“In that case, would the asker be allowed to ask something else?”

She nodded.

He pulled back from her, choosing to instead also lean against the wall. “I do enjoy the thought of us not being total strangers,” he chuckled, bringing one knee up. He draped his arm over it. “Anyway, how can I make my wife happy if I don’t know what she likes and dislikes, hmm?” A somewhat sweet smile came to his lips as he glanced up at her.

Thora felt her cheeks grow a little warm, but she knew it wasn’t noticeably so. Pulling the blankets closer to herself, she let out a quiet sigh and shifted, now sitting cross-legged. “I’ll let ya ask the first question,” she told him, unpinning her cloak. She kept it around her shoulders instead of removing it, though.

With his free hand, Dagur teasingly tapped his chin in thought. “Hmm…What’s a good starting question…Oh, I know!” He cocked his brow, a wry grin coming to his lips. “Why did you lie to me so much?”

“At first, it was because you were, well, annoyin’ as all Hel,” she admitted. “Ya were blood thirsty, loved violence, didn’t mind hurtin’ my cousin; not someone I’d want t’ be friends with, let alone court. But then, on Outcast Island, it was out o’ self-preservation. At the time, you were my only way back home. So…” She ran her hand over her hair and to the back of her neck, sighing; she peeked over at Dagur to find him frowning. “So, I pretended t’ be interested in ya. I hated lyin’ like that -I still hate myself for it, honestly- but I wanted t’ go back home. I wanted t’ get away from Alvin. He scared me more than you did.”

Dagur slowly nodded, the frown still on his face. He remained silent, however -it was Thora’s turn to question him.

“How did ya get the scar on your face?”

He shrugged. “Alvin drugged me then threw me in his stupid maze,” he explained. “Did you know there was a maze on Outcast Island?” He let out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t. Not until I woke up in it with my hands bound behind my back and no way to find my way out. So, I did what I had to do: I used my own blood to make the places where I had already been.”

Thora’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock and horror.

Again, Dagur shrugged. “I’m sure he _could_ have done worse,” he continued, “but as far as I remember, that was the only _cruel_ thing he did to me while I was there.” He shifted again, turning himself so that he was laying down, his head resting in Thora’s lap. “You know, I almost think we should get some sort of prize each time we answer a question. Like a kiss on the cheek or a nice, warm hug.”

Her brow rose as she closed her mouth. “The prize is learnin’ more ‘bout each other,” she told him coolly.

He pouted. “I tried.”

“Aye, ya did. What’s your second question?”

“What did you learn while on the mainland?”

Thora was quiet for a moment. Tilted her head back against the wall, she let out a quiet sigh. “I learned a lot o’ stuff: I learned magic; I learned healin’; I learned how t’ shapeshift…I learned about other races an’ how t’ treat them with medical matters.

Opening her eyes, she stared into the darkness that was the cave’s ceiling. “I was taught both the formal an’ intimate pleasures o’ love. I was taught the hatred o’ people who think people like me are better off dead. I was taught the meanin’ o’ real fear. I was taught the pain o’ heartbreak an’ grief.”

He stared up at her, still frowning. “What do—” He cut himself off, knowing it wasn’t his turn. But he badly wanted to know what she meant in regards to love. Forcing himself to look away from her, he tucked his hands behind his head. “Next question, I guess.”

Biting her tongue, she looked down at him. There were so many different questions running through her head, but she knew better than to ask the truly deep ones just yet. “That day on Berserk…Were ya really goin’ t’ kill me?” she asked. She had a feeling she already knew the answer.

At that, Dagur sighed. “No. I could never kill you. Capture you and make you my slave? Yes. But…No. I couldn’t ever hurt you like _that_.”

She nodded slowly; his answer wasn’t entirely what she was expecting, but close enough. “I should go stir the stew real quick,” she quietly told him.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’ve got it over the coolest part of the fire. What did you mean earlier, when you said you learned the ‘formal and intimate pleasures of love’?”

Again, she bit her tongue; this answer was going to hurt. “It means what it sounds like, Dagur. I…I fell in love. His name was Cæna. He was Trader Johann’s nephew an’ he was a blacksmith’s apprentice.” Drawing her hand out from beneath the covers, she unconsciously started to play with Dagur’s hair. It was much softer and thicker than she expected. “He was impossibly handsome an’ gentle an’ kind. I never would have thought in a million years someone like him would fall in love with _me_. And yet, he did. Gods, we were so in love…”

She pulled her hand back, wiping away a tear as it rolled down her cheek. “But then the war happened. And…And the gods took him from me. Took him from Midgard. We promised we’d see each other after the battle. I never got t’ say goodbye. Just a promise t’ see him, an’ he was off.”

Dagur sat up. Keeping his back to her, he went over to the fire, stirring the stew. He didn’t want Thora to see the anger and the jealousy that filled his eyes. It was his own fault he was upset; _he_ had asked her the question.

Thora was just being honest.

But he suddenly hated her honesty. He hated that she had felt such a deep love for someone _other_ than him. He knew it was petty of him; he had, too, had been in love in the past. Even if Thora did hold any affection for him, he knew she wouldn’t be jealous of Tyra or Vigdís.

Tyra and Vigdís were still alive, though. This Cæna? Dead. He shouldn’t have been jealous of a dead man. Not only was it bad luck, but it was just _childish_.

Thora’s voice suddenly broke through the tense silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” His voice was quiet, yet it echoed through the cave. “This little… _game_ is about honesty and getting to know each other. Even if we don’t like the answers.” Standing upright, he faked a smile. “It’s almost ready. Would you like some bread with yours?”

“Aye, please,” she quietly replied, watching him.

He went over to his stockpile, searching for some bowls, spoons, and bread. “It’s your turn, by the way. To question me.”

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked, not giving herself a chance to think of anything more meaningful.

Dagur was caught a bit off guard by it, though. “Brown. It’s a good, neutral color that goes with anything and can be used to blend into any environment. And it’s easy to get blood out of brown clothes.” Finding the bowls, he started the search for spoons. “Yours?”

“I…don’t know, t’ be honest. I’m fond o’ dark green, but I also like the deep purple o’ wine.” She slipped out of bed, grateful that the cave had warmed up quite a bit since she made the wall. Lifting the lid to the stew, she gave it a good stir before adding some more wood to the fire.

“Both of those are good.” He moved aside a bit of spare cloth and found the spoons. Now he just needed the bread. “The color of wine is good for hiding blood, but it’s also a nice, rich status color.”

Grabbing two loaves of bread, he turned to head back to the fire only to find Thora there. He offered the bread to her and she took them both while he held onto the bowls. Using her tail, she filled the two bowls nearly to the brim with the stew; it smelled rather delicious for being made without communication between the two of them.

They returned to the bed, where they ate their dinner. Questions continued to be asked between them, though, for now, they were simple ones. Favorite foods were learned (crispy, spit-roasted pork for Dagur and Kelda’s cream cakes for Thora) as well as favorite weather (clear skies, but cool air; the darkness before a storm) and most beloved childhood pets (a yak named Thormageddon; a sheep named Phil).

Their bowls were soon nearly empty and they had to use pieces of bread to sop up the remaining bits of stew. Thora covered her mouth as she yawned, feeling quite full and tired. Getting up, she set her bowl near the fire before going over to her saddlebags. Dagur watched as she dug around for a moment before pulling out some articles of clothing.

Shrugging, he, too, climbed off the bed and set his bowl near the fire. Excusing himself, he left the cave to go relieve himself. He shivered against the sudden blast of bitter air, but as he undid his trousers and started to pee, the cold only helped to empty his bladder.

‘Maybe I should ask Thora about making a place _inside_ the cave for us to relieve ourselves,’ he thought, tucking himself back into his trousers and lacing them up. ‘Because this is just ridiculous. It’s too cold to pee out here, let alone take a crap.’ Rubbing his hands together, he blew into them to warm them as he hurried back to the cave. ‘Maybe ask her about a bathing place, too? Or would that be too much? I don’t want to exhaust her in _that_ way while we’re here…’

Stepping back into the warmth of the cave, his eyes widened and his froze in mid-step. Thora was still by her saddlebags, but she was now nearly naked. Having changed out of her warm dresses and trousers, she had instead donned a knee-length skirt. While he stood there, Dagur watched as she pulled on a sleeveless top, having to use her tail to help.

But it wasn’t the fact that she was nude that made him stare; it was her scars and tattoos that had caught his attention.

“Ya can stop starin’,” she said, not looking at him. “I’m just changin’ into my sleepin’ clothes.” She gathered up her hair and pulled it out from beneath her shirt. It was still braided, though she looked as if she were contemplating unbraiding it.

His cheeks had turned bright red and he swallowed hard, regaining his composure. “Ya-you sleep in d-different clothes?” he asked, though his voice shook a bit from the surprise.

“I thought it was my turn t’ ask a question?” For the first time that day, there was a hint of playfulness to her voice and, as he looked over his shoulder, he could see a small smile on her lips. “Aye, I sleep in different clothes. I didn’t use to, but now I find trollish clothing more comfortable for sleepin’.” Standing up, she flicked her hair over her shoulder before uncorking a water skin with her teeth.

“That’s a trollish outfit?” His brow rose; now that she was standing, he saw that the skirt actually fell above her knee, but had a slit on either side that went up to mid-thigh. The shirt covered her unhurt shoulder, but not much else; it hung loosely over her breasts and stopped just above her sternum. Both were deep shades of green with gold embroidery along the hem. “Looks more like it’s meant for some sort of ceremony to me.”

At that, she snorted. “This? For a ceremony?” Shaking her head, she corked the skin again. “No. This is basically what I’d wear come summer. I…I know it’s not a lot o’ clothin’ compared t’ normal, but trolls don’t have the same taboos as humans.” Tossing the water skin on the ground, she sighed. “Do ya prefer the inside o’ the bed or the outside?”

“Truth be told, it’s been so long since I’ve shared my bed, I don’t remember.”

She cocked her head slightly. “So…you’ve had other lovers?” She was surprised that there had been someone -or multiple someones- willing to bed Dagur.

It was Dagur’s turn to laugh. “Of _course_ I have,” he told her. “Not only was I Berserk’s most eligible bachelor, but I’m also a chief _and_ a great warrior. All the nobles were trying to marry their daughters off to me.” He then shrugged. “But, I only shared my bed with two of them.” He added some more wood to the fire, glancing up to check on Thora. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him.

“But, though they may be beautiful, neither of them are queen material,” he continued. “One, Tyra, has too much bloodlust in her veins. She’s violent and loves pain whether it’s inflicted on herself or on others; not queen _or_ wife material. The other, Vigdís, is more like you, actually.”

Her brow rose. “And why isn’t she queen material?” she asked, her voice dry.

“She’s too timid -too sensitive. She almost faints at the sight of blood.” He shook his head and started to undo his bel. “She’s fiercely intelligent and a good strategist, but…She can’t hold her own in battle or in arguments.” Once his belt was unbuckled, he tossed it to the ground near the bed, his armored skirt and boots soon joining it.

Thora felt her cheeks grow warm when Dagur removed his tunic. She had been expecting him to wear something beneath it -it was armored, after all, and any blows he received to his torso would almost certainly leave horrid bruises even _with_ padding- but there was nothing except bare skin.

He looked much different than the day she tended to his wounds from the Skrill; his muscles were more defined and he had a trail of hair leading from below his trousers up onto his chest. He also had more scars than before. Many of them, she noticed, left by dragons.

‘Oh gods,’ she thought, biting her tongue. ‘Why did he have to get more _handsome_ over the last few years?’ Forcing herself to look away, she started to pull back the top layers of blankets and furs.

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t hear Dagur approaching. A quiet gasp left her mouth and she stiffened as she felt his arms wrap around her from behind. He nuzzled the area between her shoulder blades, sighing softly. Thora shivered; his breath was warm against her skin.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, voice just above a whisper. “I just want to hold you for a bit.”

Thora bit her tongue and tried to glance over her shoulder at him, but due to the differences in their height, she could only catch a glimpse of his hair. ‘I need to get used to this anyway,’ she thought, managing to turn herself around in his arms. ‘May as well start now.’ Wrapping her arm around his shoulders, she rested her chin atop his head.

Dagur smiled. He hadn’t expected her to let him hold her so easily; truthfully, he had expected her to pull away and would have let her. But, she had instead allowed it -even held him in return.

He let out another sigh, his eyes opening. Dagur found himself looking at her scarred shoulder and he raised his hand, tenderly running his fingers along the flesh. Again, he felt her shiver, but still she did not pull away.

“How bad did it hurt?” he questioned, his voice still soft. The scar dipped and rose with small valleys; the skin was both smooth and rough in these valleys.

“Horribly. But not because it was missin’. It hurt because Ormr had t’ burn it.”

Dagur nodded, shifting his weight and placing a kiss on top of the scar. “I won’t let you get hurt like this again,” he murmured against her skin.

Her brow rose. “What--?” She was cut off as Dagur, rising onto his tiptoes, kissed her.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered. Kissing her again, he wrapped his arm around her waist and began lowering her onto the bed. “I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you.”

Thora bit her tongue, finding herself laying beneath Dagur. Her cheeks quickly grew hot, but as he lightly ran his knuckles along her cheek, she found herself not caring. He gave her a third kiss and she lifted her hand, resting her palm on his cheek. Her lips willingly parted as his tongue slowly traced them; a soft moan left her throat as he explored her mouth.

She sharply inhaled, somewhat startled as his other hand slid its way down her side. His scent overwhelmed her and her head felt like she was swimming -but she enjoyed it. Lifting her tail, she wrapped it around his torso, lightly brushing the back of his neck with the tuft of hair at its end. It was Dagur’s turn to shiver, but he grinned and nipped her lower lip.

“Gods, you’re amazing,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers.

Thora dared to nip his lower lip in return. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” she replied. She glanced down, biting her tongue as she unconsciously admired his bare chest.

Dagur quietly laughed, burying his face in her neck. As he kissed along her throat, she let her head fall back with a groan. “You’re so damned intoxicating.” He gently bit the skin at the base of her neck and she gasped, gripping his hair. “Everything about you…It’s like, the moment we’re alone together, I’m drunk on you.” Glancing up at her, he found her eyes shut, but her brows were lifted in pleasure.

“I-I don’t know why,” she breathed. She could feel him dragging his lips along her collarbone and down her chest. “I really d-don’t. I’m nothin’ special.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Pushing her shirt up, he uncovered her breasts and earned yet another shiver from her. She raised her arm, allowing him to remove the garment from her body. With a small grin, he cupped one breast in his hand, kneading it gently and drawing a soft groan from her throat.

Testingly, he flicked his tongue across her nipple a couple of times; when she did nothing to push him away, he smirked and took it fully in his mouth. He rolled the bud around his mouth, massaging it with his tongue before scraping his teeth against it or squeezing it with his lips.

Thora somewhat squirmed below him, groaning. Her hand fell and gripped onto the fur beside her; it felt so _good!_ And it had been so long since she last felt pleasure from another…Even this little bit of attention was driving her crazy. Her whole body ached with want.

No.

With _need_.

But Dagur suddenly pulled back from her breasts, making her whimper in protest. As he kissed her, she raised her hand, holding his head in place as she hungrily licked at his lips. Soft whimpers continued to leave her mouth as he slid both hands down her sides and along her thighs.

“You’re beyond precious to me,” he breathed, using his nose to nuzzle her cheek. He slowly spread her legs apart and lifted them a bit; her skirt fell down her thighs and onto her stomach. “You’re my wife…my _goddess_.” He locked gazes with her, finding her eyes filled with the same primal hunger that filled him. “And, with your permission, I’m going to worship you _all_ night long.”

Thora swallowed hard and nodded, unable to form words. Dagur started to kiss his way down her body until he had slid himself off the edge of the bed. She propped herself up on her elbow and bit her tongue, watching as he kissed along her inner thigh. A soft giggle left her mouth as he nipped her skin here and there.

He glanced up at her, smiling when he saw the grin on her face. She twitched ever so slightly as he kissed her mons; her body was tense with anticipation. Once more meeting her eye, he smirked and let his tongue delve between her folds. Thora gasped, her eyes closing as he teased her inner lips.

Dagur parted her folds with his fingers only to bury his mouth and chin between them. His beard tickled the delicate flesh, making Thora squirm once again. His tongue flicked against a hardened bud and she gasped loudly. Greedily, he clamped his mouth over it, beginning to lick and suck at it.

Thora’s arm gave out and she fell back, her moans echoing through the cave. Her breathing had become ragged and her stomach muscles were beginning to tighten. Reaching down, she gripped Dagur’s hair, holding him against her. She suddenly cursed; he had slipped two fingers into her. He slowly pumped them into her core, letting her grow accustomed to the feeling.

Unable to help herself, Thora began to rock her hips against his face. She was whimpering again; she was _so_ close…

Dagur moved his fingers faster, curling them upwards. His tongue continued to lap at her slit as his mouth ravished her swollen bud. The more Thora moaned, the tighter his trousers became. His free hand slid down his chest and over the growing bulge; he gave himself a gentle squeeze and made himself moan.

The vibration of his moan against her flesh sent Thora over the edge. Her back arching, she let out a cry and thrust her hips against Dagur’s face. He continued to lap at her, feeling her body grip his fingers with every stroke. For nearly a minute, she erratically thrust against him as she whimpered and moaned in pleasure.

He slowed his teasing with her movements before finally pulling back. Thora panted heavily, her body involuntarily twitching once every few seconds. She looked up at him, eyes clouded over, and watched as he licked his fingers clean with a smirk.

“D-Dagur…” Her voice sounded pathetic -at least, to her. “P-please…” She reached for him, her efforts being reward when he settled over her. Lifting her head, she kissed him deeply; she could taste herself on him. “P-please, Dagur,” she softly whined, wrapping her legs around his hips.

“Impatient are we?” he teasingly whispered. Her head fell back as he licked along her jaw. “We have all night.” He sucked on the skin below her ear, lightly biting at it.

Thora moaned loudly as she snaked her arm around his chest. She copied Dagur’s actions, kissing along his throat before settling just above his collarbone. Sucking his skin, she unconsciously dug her nails into his shoulder, pulling him closer to her. He grunted, tilting his head to grant her better access.

His eyes then shot open only to roll back; Thora softly giggled as he moaned. She had slipped her tail between his legs, letting it grind against his bulge. Clenching his teeth, he fought the urge to counter its movements.

Thora kissed him and he melted against her, his arms wrapping around her and holding her protectively. She dragged her hand down his back, unknowingly leaving a trail of four red lines from her nails. Gently biting his lip, she tugged it back a short way before letting go and licking it. The whole while, her hand crept its way farther south.

“Gods, I love you,” Dagur grunted, his head tilting forward as her tail slowly slid along his spine. “You have no idea…”

A pang of guilt made Thora’s hand suddenly stop, hovering over the laces on his trousers. Swallowing hard, she silenced him with a kiss before he could say anything else. Her fingers brushed against the leather lacings, searching for the knot that held them shut. She could feel how tight his trousers had grown and the thought of what they hid made her groan.

“You’re cheating,” he whispered, pulling back. He sat up, letting his hands run along her thighs.

“How is it cheating?” she retorted. There was a small grin on her lips as she started to tug his trousers down, revealing the top of his arousal.

He grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her from exposing more. “I’m supposed to be worshipping _you_. Not the other way around.” Sliding her hand up his stomach and chest, he buried his face in her palm, kissing it.

She reached up with her tail, tenderly stroking his cheek. “What good is the worship o’ one person if the other is left without pleasure?”

His brow rose and he laughed. “What makes you think I’m going _without_ pleasure?” Before she could answer, he released her hand and, instead, trailed his fingers along her stomach. “Everything about you—your whimpers, your kisses, your _taste_ —they’re driving me _wild_. You know how much I _like_ being driven wild.” Unconsciously, he bit his lower lip as he let his fingers brush against her womanhood. Thanks to his efforts, she was soaked.

Thora let her own fingers glide down his chest until she reached his trousers once more. This time, he didn’t stop her as she pulled the leather down his thighs. Freed from the confines of the trousers, his length stood stiff and proud. Dagur quickly sucked in a breath as she brushed her fingers against the shift, feeling the ridges and bumps of his veins.

He was shorter than Cæna, she thought, but thicker. _Much_ thicker. She lightly ran her thumb against his tip, a small smirk coming to her lips as Dagur groaned. Looking up at him, she found him watching her adoringly.

She pulled her hand away and laid back on the furs. Though she said no words, Dagur understood her perfectly. He stood, removing both his trousers and her skirt before climbing overtop her again. One hand cupped the back of her head, holding it up as he kissed her. The other slid between their hips, guiding his arousal against her womanhood, wetting it with her nectar.

He sank into her, drawing moans from both of them. Dagur stayed still for a moment, letting them both get used to the feeling of the other; he could barely believe this was happening. Propping himself on his elbows, he began to slowly rock his hips, plunging in and out.

Soft whimpers left Thora’s mouth as her head fell back and she gripped the furs once more. He was definitely thicker than Cæna -almost _too_ thick. Dagur filled her well enough that she felt even the slightest of movements from him. Her hips started countering his movements, urging him to thrust faster.

A growl left Dagur’s mouth as he roughly kissed her. Feeling her arm and tail wrap around his torso, he shifted his weight so that only one arm held him up. The other slipped under her hindquarters, lifting her hips and letting him push deeper into her. His tongue forced its way into her willing mouth, greedily tasting her; neither cared nor noticed when one of her tusks scraped against his cheek, drawing blood.

Thora’s stomach was starting to tighten again. “D-Don’t stop,” she begged, nails digging into his skin.

“Not until I have you moaning my name,” he purred, nipping her lip. His own stomach muscles were quickly growing tight, but he did his best to hold back -he couldn’t come, not yet. Not until Thora was quaking below him in pleasure.

Seconds later, Thora’s back arched and she cried his name into the night. Dagur grunted, feeling her muscles squeeze him tightly, trying to hold him in place. She bucked against him, whimpering his name as wave after wave of pleasure coursed its way through her body.

She barely heard the loud grunt Dagur made, but she felt the twitching of his sex and the heat of his seed spreading through her as he, too, came. He thrust hard and deep into her with every shot. Burying his face in her neck, he moaned loudly, his fingers digging into Thora’s hips as he held on for dear life.

Still inside her, Dagur slowly thrusted now, letting every drop of his seed fill her. Breathing heavily, he lifted his head and smiled tiredly; Thora’s chest was heaving as she panted and again, her body trembled every few seconds as the remains of her orgasm coursed its way through her. A soft, protesting whine left her mouth as he withdrew from her.

As he climbed off her, she whined again and used her tail to grab his wrist. “Stay,” she mumbled, her eyes shut as she rolled onto her side.

His brow rose and he leaned over, kissing her temple with a chuckle. “We need to get you cleaned up,” he told her. “I made a mess of you.”

She mumbled something, but he couldn’t understand what was said. Rolling his eyes, he laughed and went to get some water and a cloth. By the time he returned, Thora was fast asleep, shivering thanks to her lack of blankets.

“What am I going to do with you?” he murmured, shaking his head. Not wanting to wake her, but knowing that their mess had to be cleaned, he gently shifted her legs. As he started to clean her, she grunted and tried to pull away; a couple of kisses along her hip and a few strokes of the small of her back calmed her once more.

“That’s as good as I can do,” he told himself a few minutes later. He tossed the bowl’s contents across the cave floor and the cloth near the fire; they would dry overnight.

Finally, he crawled back onto the bed and covered them both with layers of fur and blankets. Thora snuggled into him as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her protectively. Stroking her cheek, he kissed her forehead and smirked.

“Sleep well, my _wife_.”

 

* * *

 

 

“This broth needs more salt.”

“We…don’t exactly have the greatest supply of salt yet. I’m afraid.” Fishlegs handed a wooden mug to Ruffnut, who mumbled a thanks as she wrapped her hands around it. “Other than that, though, I followed Thora’s instructions to a Tiwaz. I roasted the chicken bones and vegetables together, I boiled them, I added all the necessary herbs and spices to quicken your healing…”

Tuffnut was staring at him in horror. “You…you _roasted_ Chicken’s bones!?” he gasped. “You _monster_!”

Fishlegs smacked his forehead, sighing. He knew Tuffnut was thinking about his pet chicken, Chicken. “No, Tuffnut. Chicken is fine, I promise. She joined me and Meatlug in our mediation pond earlier. It was a random chicken whose bones I used. And _yes_ , I made sure Chicken was nowhere near the kitchen.”

Tuffnut hunkered down into his pillows, still wearing a pout. “She better not have been,” he mumbled.

Swallowing a bit of her broth, Ruffnut leaned forward and gave her brother a scolding look. “Hey, Thora said to behave,” she told him. “You’re not behaving.”

“I am, too, behaving!” he argued. “I’m just worried about our little, feathered friend. Since I haven’t allowed her in the hut for fear of her getting sick, I’ve been having nightmares of one of the dragons eating her -or worse! _Snotlout_ eating her.

“Relax, Tuffnut,” Fishlegs assured him. “Chicken is fine.” Opening the pouch on his belt, he pulled out a small jar and brought it over to their nightstand. Using the flame from their lantern, he lit the wick inside the jar.

Ruffnut eyed him, her brow raised. “What’re you doing?” she questioned, her face half hidden by the mug of broth.

“I’m burning a rosemary-lavender candle for you two,” he chirped. “Thora lit one of these for me when I was sick and I found that it helped me relax and get a good night’s sleep. After all, they’re the keys to getting over an illness.”

Sniffing loudly, Tuffnut let out a grunt. “I can’t smell anything,” he said. “My nose is too stuffed up.”

Fishlegs beamed proudly. “I have something that’ll fix that!” He rummaged around in his bag before pulling out a very small jar. “This one is an Ingerman family trick for clearing out the nose rather quickly.” Taking Tuffnut’s mug, he opened the jar and sprinkled a minute amount of its contents into the broth. He was careful to not breathe in through his nose; he knew what would happen. Closing the jar, he tucked it back into his pouch before stirring the broth and handing it back to Tuffnut. “Go ahead and take a big swig of this!”

Part of him felt bad as he watched Tuffnut chug half the mug’s contents. The rest of him, however, was amused as Tuffnut’s face turned bright red and he began sweating. Opening his mouth, the sickly Viking stuck his tongue out and started trying to wave air at it in an attempt to cool it down.

“Et’s ‘ot! Et’s ‘ot!” Tuffnut whined. By now, his face was coated with perspiration and snot was flowing freely from his nose. “Oh ‘et’s ‘ot!”

“Yes, but try breathing through your nose,” Fishlegs told him.

Tuffnut paused, staring up at him with uncertainty. Exhaling through his nostrils, he felt tiny droplets of snot scatter across his upper lip and hands. Then, inhaling, his eyes widened; his nose was almost clear. Retrieving his mug, he started to chug the rest of the broth.

“What did you do to him?” Ruffnut croaked before sipping more of her soup. She was thankful her nose was clear; her throat, though? It was still dry and scratchy.

Fishlegs wore a proud grin as he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “Oh, I just added a bit of powdered horseradish to his soup. It’s very potent, you know. Clears the nose right up!” He beamed with pride.

“Got anything for sore throats?” she questioned, closing her eyes as she laid back against her pillows. “Or maybe the chills?”

At that, he frowned. “I…am afraid not,” he admitted. “I could look something up in Thora’s notes, though. I’m sure there’s _something_ I can whip up that’ll help you.” His brows furrowed as he watched Tuffnut lean over, loudly smelling the candle.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Hey, Ruff -you should really check out this candle. It smells really good. And it makes me feel all relaxed and stuff. Like I could…” He slowly started to fall onto his stomach, his chin resting on the mattress. “…Like I could fall asleep…any second…” A snore was muffled against his bedding.

Ruffnut shook her head, sighing. “Well, at least he’s quiet now,” she mumbled, letting her head fall back. “Here.” She blindly held the mug out towards Fishlegs. “I can’t stomach anymore of this.”

Taking the mug, he found that she had drank less than half of the soup. “Are you sure?” he asked, frowning. “You didn’t drink very much. Did it get too cold? I could heat it up for you.”

“Nah…My stomach hasn’t really liked food the last few days,” she yawned. “But thanks…And, uh. I mean that. Really. I know Tuff and I can be pains at times, but it’s nice knowin’ you guys still care about us enough to help us out when we’re sick.” Turning over, she grabbed onto her pillow and yawned once more.

Fishlegs felt his cheeks turn a bit pink; he had never heard Ruffnut say something so… _nice_. Let alone to him! But, it was a refreshing thing to hear. “Well, ah…I’d like to think you and Tuffnut would try to take care of us if we were the sick ones.”

“Oh, we would,” she chuckled, inhaling the scent of the candle. Rosemary and lavender had always been an odd mixture to her, but it was helping to soothe her. “Can’t say we’d do it well, but we’d try. And if any of you died on our watch, we’d make sure your funeral pyre would make the gods envious.”

Though he didn’t like the sounds of that scenario, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s good to know. Get some rest, alright? Snotlout or I will check on you guys in the morning.”

She nodded. “Aye, aye mon Capitan,” she murmured, giving him an exhausted salute. Opening one eye, she watched as he turned and headed for the stairs. “Oh, and Fishlegs?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thanks for the candle. It’s helping.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome. Sleep well, Ruffnut.”

“I’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

 

He could hear water, but it wasn’t coming from the waterfall. It was closer and sounded more like a trickling stream. Tiredly opening his eyes, Dagur found himself the only occupant of the bed, further confusing him. He had been certain Thora would have slept in with how exhausted she was the night before, but he also knew Thora was stubborn.

Sitting up, he looked around the cave. The fire had been rebuilt and their dishes from the previous night had been cleaned. Sitting in the coals was a steaming pot -what it contained, he couldn’t tell, but it smelled good- and, towards the back of the cave, he could see Thora. Squinting to get a better look through the dim light, he found that she was bathing under a strange, indoor waterfall -one that was _steaming_.

His brow rising, he slid out of bed only to shiver; despite the fire, the air was a bit chilly. Crossing the cave, he paused when he was still a few feet away from her. A smirk slowly spread across his lips as he let his eyes slowly trail down her body, taking in the gentle rolls and gradual curves of her backside.

Thora turned around only to let out a curse of surprise. “H-how long have ya been standin’ there?” she demanded, frowning. She had instinctively tried to cover herself, but with one arm, it was futile.

Closing the distance between them, Dagur hooked his arm around her waist and, standing on tiptoe, kissed her. “Not long,” he answered. “But long enough to admire the view.” He kissed her a second time, stroking the small of her back. “How’d you sleep?”

Biting her tongue, she gently pushed him back so she could go back to twisting her hair up out of the way. “Well enough. I made some adjustments t’ the cave. This one’s obvious, but directly behind us is a room where we can relieve ourselves without freezing.”

Spotting some soap resting on a small rock shelf, Dagur grabbed it. “Both of these are useful places. I never would have thought to make water come out of the wall like this!” He felt her stiffen slightly as he started to wash her back, but she soon relaxed against his touch. “It’s not as tedious as sitting in a wash basin. Though…” He narrowed his eyes somewhat and leaned over, making sure to make eye contact with her. “How badly did you wear yourself out?” His tone was firm.

“Not badly. I made sure t’ go back t’ bed after makin’ the spaces.” She let out a small gasp, her eyes closing as Dagur gave her hindquarters a gentle squeeze.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you wearing yourself out.” Kissing along her the back of her shoulders, he slowly brought the soap around to her front. He moved it in slow circles around her stomach, his smirk growing as he heard her groan. “Not when it’s _my_ job to wear you out…”

Shaking her head, Thora suddenly stepped out of his embrace, standing on the other side of the cascading water. “No. I don’t want ya gettin’ delusions ‘bout _us_.”

His brows furrowed. “Delusions? What do you mean ‘delusions’?”

“Last night. I don’t want ya thinkin’ one night o’ sex -as… _enjoyable_ as it was- made me fall in love with ya.” Sighing, she ran her hand over her hair. “Because it _didn’t_ an’ I don’t want ya t’ go thinkin’ it did.”

He let out a sarcastic laugh. “Of _course_ I know it didn’t make you fall in love with me,” he snapped. “But it did do one thing: It proved that you can’t resist me.” His smirk returned and he put his hands on his hips. “And _that_ , my beautiful wife, means there’s a chance I’ll be able to win your heart for _real_.”

“Not if ya keep actin’ like that, ya won’t,” she scolded. Turning her back to him, she stepped under the water to finally rinse the soap off her skin. “I’ll admit you’re handsome -you’re _very_ handsome- but your personality?” She shook her head. “You’re spoiled an’ drunk on a mixture o’ power an’ bloodlust.”

Dagur’s lip drew back in a snarl and he clenched his fists -but he didn’t allow himself to get violent. She was his wife. _Not_ one of his men. “I am _not_ drunk on power _or_ bloodlust,” he growled. “I am the chieftain of the Berserkers -a proud and _fierce_ tribe who don’t cower away from a battle. Unlike my father before me, I’m not letting my people grow soft and delicate!”

“Your father was doin’ great things for your people, Dagur.” She put her hand on her hip, looking down at him in a scolding fashion. “He was makin’ peace with the other tribes, he was establishin’ new trading agreements, he was doin’ _right_ by his people! But then ya went an’ _killed_ him, ruinin’ all that.”

Dagur pointed dangerously up at her, seething with anger. “I _ruined_ nothing, nor did I _kill_ him! You haven’t the slightest—” He suddenly froze, his eyes widening as he realized what he had just admitted.

Thora’s eyes also widened and her tail fell to the ground in shock. “…Wh-what did ya just say?” she questioned.

She watched as a variety of expressions passed over his face -sorrow, disbelief, rage, even amusement. Slowly, he backed away from Thora before simply turning and running towards the bed. Biting her tongue, she watched as he hurriedly started to throw on his clothes, not caring that he was soaking wet. Grabbing her towel, she wrapped it around herself before going over to him.

“D-Dagur?” She sat beside him as he struggled to pull his leather trousers on over his damp legs. Hesitantly, she reached over and set her hand on his shoulder only for him to smack it away.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he snapped, unable to look at her. “ _Don’t_ touch me. Don’t _touch_ me, don’t _talk_ to me, don’t do _anything_ to me right now, do you understand!?” Snatching his tunic from the ground, he pulled it on before fastening his belt around his waist.

Biting her tongue, Thora remained silent as she clutched her towel to her chest. She had never seen him act this way; she had seen him upset before, but it hadn’t been like _this_. This?

This was beginning to make her worry for her safety.

‘He clearly didn’t mean to say that,’ she thought, flinching every time Dagur made a sudden movement. ‘But if what he said is true, that means he _didn’t_ kill his father…and that means, there could still be a chance that Oswald is alive.’

Pulling a knee to her chest, she watched as Dagur went over to his supplies. He pulled on his heavy cloak as well as some gloves before grabbing his crossbow and quiver. Biting her tongue, she wished she was still able to shapeshift in order to make herself smaller, less visible.

‘But, if Oswald is alive,’ she continued to think, ‘ _what_ happened to him? Why isn’t he the chieftain of the Berserkers instead of Dagur?’

She flinched as Dagur suddenly came over to her. Grabbing her shoulders, he leaned over and placed a short, irate kiss on her lips.

“Don’t leave the cave,” he told her, voice quiet, but dangerous. “I’ll be back before sundown.”

Before she could say anything, he had crossed the cave and disappeared out the door.


	29. 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahah...sorry this took so long to get out. Not only has October been a butthead, but I've had to rewrite parts of this chapter two or three times because...well, it was just crap. Heh. Anyway, the song Dagur sings in this chapter is called Trøllabundin by Eivør Pálsdóttir, so it's not a historical song, but I thought it fit well enough. And ya'll should totally look the song up. It is GORGEOUS. In fact, just go listen to all of her music. It's all gorgeous and a lot of it is in my writing/inspiration playlist for this fic :p

Dagur had been gone most of the day. Thora remained in the cave, tending to the fire and trying to keep herself distracted. She knew he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if she did leave, but she wasn’t willing to risk bringing about another bout of his wrath. This, however, left Death Dance worried and the dragon tried to visit her rider, only to be able to fit her snout in through the door.

“Silly thing,” Thora murmured. She quietly laughed as she called the magic to her. It came easier to her today, but it still took her a great deal of strength and concentration to will it to make the cave entrance widen enough to allow Death Dance through.

A quiet curse left her mouth as her legs suddenly gave out. She fell to her knees, grunting at the sudden pain that filled them. Death darted over, worriedly nuzzling her rider.

“I’m fine,” she assured her, giving the dragon a less-than-convincing smile. Holding onto Death’s snout, she shakily got to her feet. She walked a few steps only to nearly collapse once more. Thankfully, Death caught her and, grabbing hold of the back of her dress, she carried Thora over to the bed.

“Alright, maybe I’m _not_ so fine…” she murmured. Sighing, she pushed some hair out of her face. “Sorry, girl.”

Death made a concerned sound as she sat down. Cocking her head this way and that, she continued to make the sound as she stared at her riders, trying to get her to vent.

“It’s just…Dagur said somethin’ earlier.” She glanced up as Death Dance rested the tip of her chin on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide and full of eagerness. “We had another fight o’ sorts. But, durin’ it, he said he didn’t—he said he didn’t kill Oswald.”

At that, Death clucked, confused.

Thora nodded in agreement. “Aye, I know it’s strange -he’s _bragged_ about it in the past. It’s one o’ his crownin’ achievements. So…so why did he say he _didn’t_ do it? And it slipped out so naturally, I know he wasn’t lyin’.” Thanks to the large opening in the wall, the hot air was quickly sucked outside. Shivering, Thora weakly crawled under the blankets. “But since he didn’t kill Oswald, does that mean Oswald is alive? But, if he’s alive, why isn’t _he_ chieftain o’ the Berserkers? What happened t’ him that put Dagur on the throne?”

The Boneknapper shuffled in such a way that made it seem like she had shrugged. She shifted her position a bit, using her hindquarters to block the exit a bit more.

“Oswald, though agreeable, wasn’t the sort who would just relinquish the throne.” Sighing, she rolled onto her stomach and, gathering a pillow under her chin, looked up at her dragon. “Least o’ all t’ Dagur. He knew how volatile Dagur can be. Then again, it didn’t seem like he had ever done much t’ try an’ discipline Dagur, either.”

She draped her tail over the edge of the bed, slowly tracing circles into the floor with the tuft at its end. Death watched her curiously, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t think it’s somethin’ I can outright ask Dagur about,” she murmured, her eyes starting to drift shut. “Seeing how angry he got earlier…I actually started fearin’ for my life. He was beyond mad.” She shifted, rolling onto her side. The pillow smelled of a mixture of her and Dagur, making her bite her tongue as she remembered the previous night. “I’m goin’ t’ have t’ be a bit more careful ‘bout what I say from here on out. I want him t’ be our _ally_ , not forever our enemy.”

Stretching her neck out, Death lightly nuzzled Thora, who smiled tiredly.

“Don’t worry, Deathy,” she yawned. “I’ll figure somethin’ out. Maybe somethin’ will come t’ me while I sleep…”

A quiet purr left Death’s throat as she watched her rider slowly drift off to sleep. She quietly snorted, a bit of smoke leaving her nostrils and floating into the air. Shifting her body once more, Death Dance placed her head between the fire and the bed, wanting to keep an eye on both while Thora slept.

 

* * *

 

 

“What in Thor’s name happened here!?”

“This whole area is a complete _wreck_!”

Snotlout and Fishlegs stared in horror at the sight before them, Astrid, and Hiccup. The grounds of the Edge looked as if they had been trampled by a herd of upset Gronckles. Crates that had stored extra supplies were smashed to bits and their contents scattered about. Barrels of Monstrous Nightmare Gel were strewn about, some of them laying in pieces and puddles. Boars from the twins’ boar pit roamed freely, eating any of the grass that hadn’t been soiled by Nightmare Gel.

Astrid turned towards Fishlegs and Snotlout, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed in anger. “I thought we asked you to keep this area picked up? This is the main thoroughfare of the Edge! If it’s a disaster zone, someone could get hurt!”

“It wasn’t like this last night!” Fishlegs cried, his eyes wide. “We had everything neatly stacked and the boars were happily munching away in their pen!”

“Yeah!” Snotlout agreed, frowning. “I had all those barrels and crates stacked just like you wanted, too!”

Hiccup sighed. “The two of you aren’t capable of this much destruction,” he admitted, “but the boars? Are you two sure neither of you left the gate to their pen open?”

“I latched it myself before I went to check on the twins last night,” Fishlegs told him, pouting. “I even triple checked because I didn’t want the twins worrying about their boars!”

Rubbing her forehead, Astrid also sighed. “Well, from the looks of it, they got loose and trashed the place. I know you were in a hurry last night; are you _positive_ you latched the gate?”

“Yes! You know how meticulous I am about details.”

Snotlout shrugged. “He’s right. He’s even worse than Hiccup at times. He even made me garnish your guys’ soup with parsley instead of just leaving it plain last night.”

Fishlegs half-glared at him. “It was in Thora’s recipe; if you left it out, who knows what would have gone wrong with the medicinal soup!?”

“It would taste slightly less like leaf water!” Snotlout frowned. “It’s just chicken soup! There’s nothing medicinal about it!”

“And how do you know that? _You’re_ not the healer, are you?”

Crossing his arms, Snotlout turned away from him. “Funny you ask that of _me_ -the only one on this island who _didn’t_ get sick.”

Sighing, Hiccup shook his head. “Enough, you two. We need to get this area picked up and those boars rounded up before nightfall. With the twins still down for the count, this is going to take us all day.”

“I’ll get the boars,” Snotlout grumbled, moving to mount Hookfang. “Because there is _no way_ I’m stacking all those crates and barrels again!”

Astrid frowned as the two of them flew off. Shaking her head, she looked at Fishlegs and Hiccup. “How’re we going to clean up all this spilled Nightmare Gel? We can’t salvage any of it; we don’t have the containers to hold it.”

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair. “That, I don’t know. I guess we can just wash it away with a bunch of water…?”

Fishlegs shook his head. “We don’t want to waste it! Not to mention, if we did that, it would just cover the ground in a thin layer of gel, making it slippery as snot.”

A mischievous twinkle suddenly filled Astrid’s eyes. “I have the _perfect_ idea for it!” she chirped. “We make a thin trough across the Edge and fill it with the gel! That way, if we’re attacked, we have a wall of fire to defend us.”

Fishlegs and Hiccup stared at her, each one having one brow raised.

“Er…That would be a good idea,” Fishlegs started, “if everything around us wasn’t constructed out of _wood_.”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “You don’t think I’d put the trough right _under_ the supports for our huts, do you?” she retorted blandly. “I’d put it closer to the beach - _away_ from our huts, but still in a defensive position.”

“After a few days, it’d just absorb into the ground, rendering it useless,” Hiccup told her. “If we were to keep it stored away in a barrel or a cauldron or something, then I’d be willing to let you build the trough.”

“I guess that’s true,” she admitted with a sigh. “But that still doesn’t help us figure out what do with all this.” She used her thumb to gesture as the puddles of Nightmare gel. “We can’t just light it on fire to get rid of it.”

“Maybe we can temporarily store it in a cauldron or something until we get a new barrel or two?” Fishlegs suggested. “I mean, the amount of gel that’s salvageable isn’t very much -it’s been trampled through by the boars already.”

Hiccup cocked a brow once again. “Where are we going to find a spare cauldron? All of ours are used for cooking!”

A sheepish smile came to his face. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, Hiccup. You leave the Nightmare gel to me and the two of you can work on restacking the supply crates.” Hurrying over to Meatlug, he mounted her and the two flew off.

Astrid sighed, shaking her head. “He’s up to something,” she told Hiccup, “and I’m not sure if it’s a _good_ something.”

Hiccup laughed. “Ah, c’mon -when has Fishlegs ever done something mischievous?” He dismissively waved his hand before walking over to a pile of smashed wood and partially eaten dried fish. “It’s the twins you got to worry about -especially when they tell you _not_ to worry.”

“True,” she agreed. Going over to a different pile of smashed crates and barrels, she knelt down and began picking up the larger pieces of shattered wood. She stuck her tongue out, cringing somewhat; the fish didn’t smell very pleasant.

Then, her brows furrowed. Something about the ground beneath the remains of food and wood didn’t seem right. Using a piece of wood, she shoved aside some of the fish to reveal two large footprints. Her eyes widened and she dumped most of the wood aside in favor of trying to find more prints.

“Hiccup, come look at these!” As he came over, she used the wood to point the tracks out. “These don’t look like boar prints.”

His eyes widened. “And they look nothing like prints our dragons leave,” he murmured. He looked at Astrid, a grin beginning to spread across his face. “Do you know what this means?”

She nodded, though she was more concerned than ecstatic. “New dragon.”

Falling to his knees, Hiccup began to shove aside wood and fish in an attempt to find more of the footprints. “Look at the size of this thing! And look how deep it is!” He held his hand over one for a comparison. “Short, stubby toes, but a wide, flat pad combined with this depth…Definitely bigger than a Gronckle, but it’s not a boulder class or a sharp class.”

“Do you think maybe it’s a tidal class or a strike class? With how close we are to the ocean, it’s possible it was a tidal class who came up during the night because it smelled the dried fish or something.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, her brows still furrowed. “Either way, I _told_ you storing our extra food down here wasn’t a good idea.”

A sheepish smile came to his lips as he stood up. “Well, in my defense, I thought it’d all be frozen by this point. Frozen things tend to not have smells.”

She shrugged, though didn’t seem convinced. Opening her mouth to speak, she was stopped before she could even say one syllable.

“Guys! Guys!” Snotlout was running them, a look of awe and fright on his face. Behind him ran Hookfang, his own eyes wide. “You will _never_ believe what I just saw!” Reaching the pair, he bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he panted.

“A set of large dragon tracks?” Hiccup excitedly asked.

“A bunch of dead boars?” Astrid dryly questioned.

Snotlout looked between the two of them, his brow rising. “Uh…kind of? The tracks, I mean. But it wasn’t tracks we saw, was it Hookfang?” He looked over his shoulder, nudging his dragon with his elbow. “We saw a _huge_ dragon!”

Hookfang made a noise deep in his throat as he nodded.

“How big was it?” Hiccup demanded. “Did you see what kind of class it was? What about its wingspan? Or its coloration?”

Snotlout held up his hands at his cousin. “Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ , Hiccup. I know you get a dull sword over dragons, but we only saw it for like, two seconds.”

Hiccup felt his cheeks darken in embarrassment as he heard Astrid quietly snicker. “Well, then, _what_ did you manage to see of it?”

“It was kind of this shape.” Picking up one of the pieces of wood, Snotlout drew a long, somewhat egg-shaped oval with two spikes for horns in the ground.

Astrid’s brow rose and she glanced over at Hiccup. She prayed to the gods that she wasn’t the only one who thought Snotlout’s drawing resembled a piece of poop more than a dragon.

“And it was kind of red?” Snotlout continued. “It was hard to tell; it was running off into the bushes, chasing the boars. Oh…yeah. The twins’ boars are probably halfway across the island by now, so it’s going to be useless trying to hunt them down today.” He shrugged, tossing the stick away.

At that, Hiccup sighed and smacked his forehead. “Great…let’s hope they don’t strangle us in our sleep when they find out,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure they won’t be _that_ mad,” Astrid assured him. “Anyway, it’s not like the boars were lost on purpose!”

“Oh, no -they’re going to be pissed,” Snotlout corrected. “That dragon, whatever kind it was, totally _smashed_ the fencing around the pen. Do you know how long it took them to build that fence so it was perfectly boar-proof?”

Closing his eyes, Hiccup buried his face in his palm.

Astrid, on the other hand, rolled her eyes. “We have _bigger_ things to worry about right now, Snotlout,” she scolded. “Literally. We need to get the Edge cleaned up and keep an eye out in case that dragon comes back. We can’t have it storming through again and possibly taking out the supports for our huts and walkways…”

“Exactly,” Hiccup sighed. “Snotlout, since the boars are a lost cause now, could you take all the barrels containing food up to the clubhouse? You don’t have to put them in the kitchen; just tuck them off to one side of the main room or something.”

Snotlout pouted. “Why am I the one who’s always stacking things?” he grumbled, starting to walk away.

“Because you’re the strongest Viking here,” Astrid called after him, trying to give him a boost of confidence - _and_ a reason to do the work more willingly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Bodies…so many bodies. They were everywhere. Some with faces, some without. Many were maimed beyond recognition. Others were whole and all-too familiar._

_All stared at her, following her every step as she walked along an unseen path. She could hear whisperings; the voices of the dead._

_“Why didn’t you help us?”_

_“You left us for dead…you could have helped us, but you left us for dead.”_

_“How could you let me die? How could you let this happen to me?”_

_She bit her tongue, quickening her pace. ‘Don’t listen to the voices,’ she told herself. ‘Don’t listen to them. They’re illusions meant to lead you astray…You have to stay on the path.’_

_But_ where _was the path? As she looked down, she found her feet shrouded by mist. Ahead of her, the same mist covered the ground, masking it from view. But something was pulling her, driving her forward._

_The whisperings around her started to grow louder. The bodies began to shift and move, rising to their feet. Lifeless corpses startled to amble towards her, intent on blocking her path._

_“We’re dead because of you,” they all hissed together, the sound like a gust of wind._

_She started to run. Behind her, the dead continued to murmur at her, reminding her of her guilt. Closing her eyes, she used her hand and tail to cover her ears, trying to stop herself from hearing the voices. But it was no use. Even after running for what felt like forever, she could still hear them._

_Suddenly, she smacked into something solid. She fell back, landing on her hindquarters with a curse. Upon looking to see what she had run into, her eyes widened in terror._

_There loomed Cæna, his body riddled with rotting arrow wounds. Dirt and blood were smeared across his face and his skin was the pale, blue-grey color of death._

_But his eyes were full of life. Life fueled by rage and hatred and pain._

_Before she could say anything, he stepped towards her. “You left me to die, Thora,” he said. His voice was hoarse and dry and, as he spoke, the skin of his lips cracked, oozing thick, dark blood. “I saved your life and you left me to_ die _.”_

_She slowly shook her head, feeling tears stinging her eyes. “N-no…” she whimpered. “I searched for ya, I swear it! I looked through every part o’ the battlefield, I asked everyone I came across if they saw ya—” She cried out in fear and in pain as he tackled her backwards._

_“You left me to_ die _on that battlefield!” he snarled, holding her face in a vice-like grip. “I would have lived, but you never came to me! I saved your life, I fought alongside your brothers, I swore to marry you—AND YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!”_

_“No!” she sobbed, gripping his cold wrist. “No, Cæna, ya know I’d never do that t’ ya! You’re my heart, my soul –I swear I searched for ya! I spent weeks combing Enda Fjarðarins for any sign o’ ya an’ I found none!” The stench of rotten flesh and musty earth overwhelmed her senses, nearly making her gag._

_“Your heart and soul? Ha!” He let go of her face in favor of her neck. Using both hands now, he clenched her throat with an impossibly strong grip. “You say that, and yet here you are…married and sleeping with another._ Enjoying _another more than you ever enjoyed me.”_

_“I-I had to,” she wheezed, futilely trying to get him off her. “H-Had to pr-protect Hiccup…”_

_Cæna leaned closer to her, his lips drawing back in a wicked sneer. “Don’t worry, my_ darling _,” he hissed. Keeping one hand on her throat, he used the other to tenderly brush some hair from her face. “You won’t be married to him much longer.” He watched as her eyes started to become unfocused._

_Her head felt like it was going to explode as she tried to gasp for breath, but it was useless. Her nose was filled with the stench of death and rotting flesh. A pleading look came to her face as she weakly struggled against him, her nails digging into his wrist. As her vision began fading, she watched a gentle, loving expression come to Cæna’s face._

_“Don’t worry, my darling,” he cooed, brushing his cold and cracked lips against hers. “You’ll soon join me in death. Finally, we will be together. Doesn’t that sound nice? You and me…together for eternity.”_

Her eyes snapping open, Thora gasped for breath. Above her, she saw only darkness but as she bolted upright, she could see the dim light of a dying fire. Death Dance was nowhere to be seen and the bitter winter wind blew in through the large opening in the wall.

“It was just a nightmare,” she mumbled, clenching her eyes shut. “Just a nightmare…” Lifting her hand, she felt along her throat only to wince at the memory of Cæna’s cold, dead hands. A choked sob left her mouth and she fell back. Rolling onto her side, she clutched one of the pillows to her chest and cried into it.

‘Everything about it was so real,’ she thought, gripping the pillow until her knuckles turned white. ‘Everyone…All the faces, all the voices, all the smells…Oh gods, what if that really was Cæna’s spirit? What if I didn’t look hard enough and, because of me, he died?’ She started crying harder, finding it hard to breathe between the sobs.

Some minutes later, someone gently lifted her and held her against them. She tried to pull away at first, but when she realized that it was Dagur -who was very much alive and _not_ trying to strangle her- she gave in and let him cradle her. Wrapping her arm and tail around his torso, she clung onto him, sobbing into his chest.

He had never seen her so distraught before; she was normally so calm. Slowly, he started to rock her as held her, doing his best to try and help calm soothe her. When her sobs began to quiet down, he let out a quiet sigh. Closing his eyes, he began to softly sing to her; his voice was surprisingly good.

 

_Spellbound I am, I am_

_The witch has enchanted me, enchanted me_

_Spellbound deep in my soul, in my soul_

_In my heart burns a sizzling fire, a sizzling fire_

_Spellbound I am, I am_

_The witch has enchanted me, enchanted me_

_Spellbound in my heart’s root, my heart’s root_

_My eyes gaze to where the witch stood_

As he had started singing, Thora greatly calmed down. She no longer sobbed and her grip on him had slackened. By the time he reached the second verse, she had quietly joined in, though she sang in a different language.

“You know that song?” he asked, still keeping his voice soft.

She nodded. “I…I learned it from my brothers,” she answered. “Though, the version I learned has ‘warlock’ instead o’ witch.”

He smiled. “So did the version I learned, but I thought ‘witch’ was more fitting for right now.” Leaning a bit away from her, he gently tilted her chin up to look at him. “What had you so upset? I know it can’t have been our fight earlier.”

Now completely calm, she saw that Dagur was still covered in his layers of fur from when he left. He also had dried blood splattered across his face and chest; it didn’t look to be his, as she saw no visible injuries. Her hand shaking somewhat, she licked her thumb and tried to wipe away some of the blood from his cheek.

“I—I don’t know if it was a nightmare or a vision, t’ be honest,” she admitted, her attempt to wipe away the blood failing. “It felt like a vision, but it played out more like a nightmare. I-I don’t know if that makes any sense t’ ya, since ya don’t use magic…” Sighing, she ran her hand over her hair, letting out a quiet curse. “It felt so real…”

“What had happened in it?”

She closed her eyes, biting her tongue. “There were bodies…bodies o’ everyone I was unable t’ save over the years. They were tellin’ me how I left them for dead an’ how I didn’t do enough t’ help them…” Clenching her jaw, she did her best to keep herself from sobbing once more. “An’ then—an’ then Cæna came t’ me. Only, his body was dead. He was full o’ rottin’ wounds an’, oh gods, the smell!” She nearly gagged at the sheer memory of it.

Dagur pulled her back against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “You don’t need to say any more,” he murmured. “It sounds more like a nightmare than a vision. Visions are supposed to be helpful and this… _wasn’t_.”

“Not _all_ visions are meant t’ be helpful,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. She shivered as a gust of wind blew into the cave; Dagur watched as a pale, blue light lit up her hand and he once again heard the sound of stone scraping against stone. “Death Dance visited me earlier,” she explained, the light dying from her hand. “Ya told me not t’ leave the cave, so…” She shrugged, managing a small smile.

At that, he frowned and looked away from her, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah…about that…” Sighing, he opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off.

“I’m sorry.”

He blinked, stealing a glance down at her. “…What?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, pulling away from him and sitting up. She had taken herself by surprise by apologizing, but it felt _right_. “I—I really shouldn’t have said any o’ that, especially—especially now that we’re married. We’re supposed t’ try an’ get along…not fight all o’ the time.”

Nodding slowly, Dagur rose to his feet. Silently, he went to tend to the fire, which was nearly dead at this point. He was able to salvage the last few coals and restart the flames with some pieces of kindling and dried moss. When the cave was adequately warm once again, he shed his cloak and moved to wash his face.

It was as she was watching him that Thora noticed the elk carcass laying near the entrance. Her eyes widened; its antlers were large and had at least three spikes each. Save for the crossbow bolt through its skull, it was perfectly unharmed, leaving quite a bit of meat for them to preserve and hide to treat.

“Did…Did ya carry that back all by yourself?” she asked.

He nodded, shedding his tunic as well; he had only brought one change of clothes and didn’t want to get them _too_ filthy. From his supplies, he pulled out a couple of small, extremely sharp knives. “I did. Why?” He also grabbed a large bucket, intending to fill it with the elk’s innards.

“It’s huge!”

He shrugged, heading over to the animal. “It’s actually kind of small compared to what we have on Berserk. Have you ever butchered an elk before?”

She nodded. “Would ya like me t’ help?”

“It’d make things go quicker.”

Nodding once more, she slid out of the bed. The floor of the cave was still cool and sent a shiver up her spine as her bare feet walked across it. She knelt beside Dagur, taking one of the small knives from him as he offered it to her. Together, they skinned the elk and butchered it, making quick work of the task by working together. It wasn’t a clean job in the least -by the end of it, they both needed to bathe again.

Before they could bathe, though, they had to clean up the butchering site as well as get the meat stored away. Dagur left the heart out, though, having cleaned it of the arteries and the sparse amount of fat. It would make a good dinner, he told Thora, if they fried it and ate it with some roasted vegetables.

For now, though, they both agreed it was time to bathe. After trudging through the wintery forest with an elk on his back and then becoming covered in its blood and guts during butchering, Dagur was more than a little eager to relax under the hot water. He let out a content sigh as he stood under the steaming waterfall, his eyes shut as he let the water cascade down his body. The only thing that could make it better, in his mind, if there was a pool he could sit down and enjoy the water in.

‘Maybe that’s something I’ll ask Thora about,’ he thought, running his hands through his hair.

His eyes suddenly flicked open as he felt an arm wrap around him from behind. His brow rising, he glanced over his shoulder in time to see Thora resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I’m your wife,” she answered before he could ask. “I need t’—I need t’ _allow_ myself t’ enjoy your presence. I can’t keep lyin’ t’ myself about it anymore.” She knew it was futile to keep denying it, not after she had begged for his touch the previous night. It was better to grow used to it sooner rather than later.

Dagur’s brow remained raised as he turned around, his eyes fixed on hers. “So, you admit you find pleasure in being around me?” he questioned, his tone cautious.

She swallowed hard, letting her arm slip around his neck. “Ya weren’t wrong earlier…when ya said I can’t resist ya. I don’t love ya, aye, but—but, Freyr’s grace, I can’t help but give in t’ ya.” She shuddered as he slowly ran his hands from her shoulder blades down to her hips. A soft gasp left her mouth; he was kissing his way along her collarbone and up her throat. Dagur had to stand on his tiptoes to do such, but he didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry, too,” he whispered beside her ear. “I was angry. _Too_ angry. I know I scared you; I never wanted to scare you like that, but I did. It’s just…” He sighed, pulling away and turning his back to her as he started to scrub himself. “Oswald is off limits for talking about. At least for now. I’m not ready. …I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, honestly.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. You really don’t.” He let out one of his humorless laughs. “But, that can’t be helped.” He shrugged, using his fingernails to try and scratch some dried blood from his arm. “Just…don’t tell _anyone_ what I said earlier.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Nodding, he looked around for the bar of soap. He blinked, taken by surprise as Thora’s arm draped over his shoulder again, her hand clutching the soap. She kissed his shoulder as he took the bar from her. Once more, he turned around and wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. Running her fingers through his hair, she let out a quiet sigh and let her eyes fall shut.

“Thank you…For not telling, I mean.” He sighed, nuzzling into her chest; he didn’t even care that he was nestled between her breasts. He just enjoyed holding her. “I know it’s information you’re probably _dying_ to tell Hiccup…” There was a bit of sarcasm to his voice, but she ignored it.

She lightly shrugged. “So long as ya don’t let him know ‘bout…’bout my nightmares, we’ll call it even.”

At that, his brow rose and he glanced up at her. “So, you’ve had nightmares like that before?”

A quiet sigh left her mouth and she avoided making eye contact with him. “I have ‘em a couple o’ times a week, t’ be honest.”

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his palm, stroking her lips with his thumb. “You care too much,” he murmured. “That’s why you have them. You care too much about people, the dead ones included.”

“It’s hard t’ _not_ care,” she told him, nuzzling into his palm. Lifting her tail, she lightly wrapped it around his wrist a couple of times. “I guess that’s why da’ an’ Gothi thought I’d make a good healer…”

Dagur let out a soft chuckle. “I’d say we should work on hardening your heart up, but…” He shook his head and pulled his hand from her face. “No. You wouldn’t be Thora then. You’d just be another jaded warrior for Odin to eventually add to his armies.” Thora noticed that, as he spoke the All-Father’s name, he spoke it with an air of disgust and he now wore a deep frown. “No. No, you’re not meant for Odin’s halls _or_ his armies. He doesn’t deserve you.”

She looked down at him, concern written on her face. “Dagur…?”

Again, he shook his head and pulled away from her. “I know what you’re going to ask,” he said, “but I’m not going to answer. Not now, at least. During dinner, maybe.” He started rubbing the soap against his skin, trying to distract himself. “I just…I just want to get this blood and sweat off me and then hold you for a while. If you’ll let me.”

Nodding, she watched as he scrubbed his arms. “Aye, I’ll let ya,” she quietly replied.

Handing the soap off to Thora, Dagur rinsed himself off. He then stepped away from the waterfall, leaving Thora to bathe in peace. By the time he had dried himself off and had pulled his trousers back on, Thora had finished bathing. He looked up, watching as she walked over, wrapped up in a towel.

A fond smile to his lips; he couldn’t help but let out a dreamy sigh. She let her towel fall in favor of pulling on a simple, brown dress, but whether she was clothed or not, Dagur thought she looked like Freya incarnate. Once she was dressed and had wrung out her braids, he stretched out on the bed, waiting for her to join him.

“Does it ever hurt?” he asked as she laid down beside him on her left side. “Your shoulder, I mean. Like, when you lay on it like you are now. Does it hurt at all?”

“Not anymore,” she replied, letting him wrap his arms around her. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck. “It did at first, when the wound was still healin’. But now that some time’s gone by–gods, it’s already been over a year!—it doesn’t hurt unless I put too much pressure on it. But the same goes for any part o’ a body that doesn’t have much muscle or fat t’ cover it.”

He nodded in understanding, letting one of his hands lightly stroke the back of her neck. “That makes sense…”

“Sometimes, though, it feels like it’s still there.”

At that, his brow rose. “Huh?”

“Aye. Sometimes, when I’m really absorbed in what I’m doin’ or when I’m tired, it feels like I still have it. I try reaching for things but I can’t grab them.” She let out a quiet sigh. “It’s really weird, because sometimes I can even _feel_ the object I’m tryin’ t’ grab. But the worst part is when it feels like _someone’s_ holdin’ my hand.”

He looked down at her, a mild look of horror on his features. “…That really happens?”

She nodded. “It’s real eerie,” she admitted. “Usually happens after the nightmares, actually.” Scrunching her nose up, she shuddered at the memory of the last time it had happened; two days ago, in the early hours of pre-dawn. She had been unable to go back to sleep that morning.

“Now _that’s_ creepy.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” She tilted her head back, looking up at him. He still looked a bit frightened, but she chased away the expression with a kiss. She also noticed that he still wore the necklace she had made on their wedding day; truthfully, she had expected him to take it off by that point. Seeing that it was still around his neck made her blush slightly.

Dagur pulled her closer against him as he kissed her in return and she shivered; she could feel the warm dampness of his skin through her dress. She unconsciously wrapped a leg around his thighs, letting out a quiet sigh against his lips.

“Have you tried rosemary and lavender under your pillows?” he murmured, pulling his lips from hers in favor of kissing along her jaw. “I’ve heard those help to bring _good_ dreams.”

Thora was unable to stop herself from chuckling. “That’s one o’ the first things I tried,” she told him, her eyes closing as she lean her head back. “It worked for a while, but…not anymore. If I want dreamless sleep, I have t’ take a powerful sleepin’ draught. I don’t have the resources or time t’ constantly make it, however, so I just…” She shrugged, her nails slightly digging into Dagur’s shoulder blade as he lightly bit the area where her neck met her shoulder.

“What does it take?” he murmured, licking the spot ‘better’. Again, he lightly bit her skin before gently sucking on it. A small grin spread across his face as he heard Thora let out a soft moan.

“L-lots o’ ingredients,” she mumbled, sliding her hand up into his hair. “Chamomile, rosemary, lavender, powdered pearls, p-petals o’—oh gods, that feels good…” Her fingers gripped his hair as he continued to kiss and nip her skin.

“Go on,” he softly teased. “Petals of what?”

She swallowed hard, trying to focus on the ingredients of the potion instead of his kisses. “Petals o’ a rose…a white rose, pre-preferably.” She groaned, letting Dagur shift them so that she was laying on her back and he was straddled atop her. “An’ th-the pearls should be fre-freshwater pearls.”

“Anything else?” he murmured.

Biting her tongue, she let her head fall back once again. “Ya also need th-the extract o’ valerian flowers…” She unconsciously draped her tail over his neck.

“And how do you make it?” Propped up on his elbows, he looked down at her with a small smirk. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a small pout on her lips as she stared up at him. He leaned his head down, kissing the tip of her nose.

“You’re certainly askin’ a lot o’ questions tonight,” she murmured, moving her hand from his hair in favor of running her fingers along his stubble-covered jaw. “Why do ya want t’ know so much ‘bout a sleepin’ draught? Especially such a tedious one?”

He grinned mischievously. “I like hearing you talk,” he told her.

Her brow rose and a glint came to her eye. Dagur let out a cry as she suddenly rolled them over, smirking down at him as she straddled _his_ waist. “Aye, but I’m supposed t’ be askin’ ya questions in return,” she replied, lightly running part of her tail against his cheek. “I thought we agreed on that?”

Dagur laughed, reaching up and pulling her down for a kiss. “I completely forgot about that game,” he mumbled against her lips. Nipping her lower lip, he slid his hands down to her outer thighs, letting them stay there as he stared up at her. “Alright then,” he told her, still grinning. “Because I’ve asked so many, I’ll let you ask _four_ before it’s my turn again.” A fleeting look of anger passed over his features. “Except about the gods. _Don’t_ ask about those yet.”

She nodded in understanding. “I know. Ya said you’d tell me ‘bout that later,” she quietly assured him. Sitting upright, she fell silent as she tried to think of something to ask him. She had already learned about his favorite things; besides, she wanted to learn more about his past and how it had shaped him. Maybe even get some information about Oswald out of him without him realizing it…

For now, though, she knew she had to start small. “Last night ya said ya had two other lovers before me,” she began, “an’ that they were opposites o’ each other. What made ya fall for such different people?”

Dagur let out a somewhat bored sigh, his eyes closing. He should have figured Thora would eventually ask to know more about Tyra and Vigdís. “I wouldn’t say I necessarily _fell_ for them,” he started. “At least, not like I’ve fallen for you. Yes, they were both beautiful…but in rather the stereotypical way. Much like that Astrid girl Hiccup fancies.”

‘Even he can see the attraction between those two?’ she thought, taken by surprise.

“No…they were more like awkward, childhood crushes gone too far,” he sighed. “Tyra, as I told you, is a wonderful warrior. She’s ambitious, cunning, _deadly_. And beautiful, of course. At the time, I thought she’d make a great queen because of those qualities. But, as time wore on, I realized she was also greedy.”

He shook his head, moving his hands to rest behind his head as Thora shifted and laid beside him once more. “Too greedy. She always wanted more. More gold, more weapons, more power, more…more _pain_. It became really obvious the third time I shared my bed with her.” He pointed at the largest scar on his torso, the one left by infection she had seen years ago. “Let’s just say that things didn’t get too far before I unceremoniously kicked her out and broke up with her.”

Thora’s brows furrowed, disgust and horror coming to her face. Before she could ask, though, Dagur answered her.

“Yeah, she’s into _that_ kind of stuff,” he said, his voice humorless. “To this day, I’m convinced the dagger was poisoned, thus the large scar. But our healer kept trying to assure me it was just a dirty blade that caused the infection.” He shrugged. “Vigdís, however…She was quiet. Soft spoken. My people loved her -still love her- but…” Again, he shook his head. “She’s not Berserker queen material.”

“Ya said she an’ I are alike.”

He nodded. “And it’s true. You both care about people, you’re both fiercely smart, and you’re both beautiful. But, that’s where it ends. Vigdís is a pushover. She wants to please everyone, so she’s _too_ nice -so nice, she’s naively gullible. People have taken advantage of her kindness before and didn’t suffer any consequences unless I found out.” Moving one arm, he wrapped it around Thora, who was, by now, using the tuft of her tail to trace small designs along his stomach.

“She was a good lover,” he continued. “Sweet, kind, always bringing me freshly made food that she had made herself…I guess, at the time, _I_ had been too nice, though. I never really had any romantic interest in her. I saw her more like a sister. Weird to say, I know, since I shared my bed with her _many_ times, but…” He shrugged, his fingers toying with one of her braids. “I’m fairly certain she saw me in much the same way, though. She was never really affectionate _except_ when we were getting intimate.”

“Sometimes, friends just need that sort o’ intimacy with someone they trust, even if they don’t love each other romantically,” Thora told him. “It happens. She sounds like she was far better than Tyra, at least.”

He smiled, letting out a small laugh. “That’s true,” he agreed. “Though, sometimes people _don’t_ trust who they take the bed…Like Savage and Fylkir.” A dark look came to his face. “Or you with me.”

Thora felt her cheeks darken. “…I trust ya more now than I did before,” she told him. “An’ not just because o’ the marriage agreements.”

“Oh? Even after this morning?”

She nodded, glancing up at him. She saw that he still work the unhappy expression, but it was now mingled with curiosity. “Ya had the perfect chance t’ hurt me or even kill me. I could see that ya almost wanted to. But ya didn’t. Ya held yourself back.”

He sighed, his eyes closing. “And that’s why you trust me: Because I didn’t hurt you.” He felt her nod against his chest.

“…An’ because ya love me,” she added, her voice quiet. “Which leads t’ my second question: _Why_ me?”

At that, Dagur’s brow rose. “I swear you asked me this same question before.”

“I did -when ya gave me this necklace.”

“The answer hasn’t changed much since then, to be honest.” Opening his eyes, he stared up at the ceiling. “You’re courageous, you’re intelligent, you’re compassionate, you’re gorgeous…Over the last three years, all of those qualities seem to have only grown. Though, I’d say you’ve also developed an amusing sense of sass.” His fingers brushed past her braids to stroke the nape of her neck and a coy grin spread across his lips. “Actually, after what transpired last night, I could add a few more things to the list…”

Her brow rose and her cheeks greatly darkened. “I think I’ll just move onto my next question,” she replied, tone dry, but cheeks dark. As Dagur chuckled, she closed her eyes and snuggled further into him; she was enjoying the warmth of his body. “Since Oswald is off limits, what ‘bout the rest o’ your family? …Or are they off limits, too?”

She felt him grow tense as he held her, but after a few seconds passed, he relaxed again. “They’re…they’re allowed,” he told her. “But it’s not terribly happy, I’m afraid. My mother died giving birth to my younger sister, who…truthfully, she was never given a name -at least, that I know of. Oswald never called her by name; it was just ‘my girl’.

“Though I was five or six years older than her, she seemed to adore me. I did my best to be a big brother to her…I’d chase away the monsters hiding under her bed, I’d tell her stories about the warrior princess and her brother who went on adventures, I was always the one who was able to make her stop crying when she was upset…”

A heavy sigh left his mouth. “But then she disappeared. I just woke up one morning and—and she was gone. To this day, we have no idea what happened to her.” Shaking his head, he rolled onto his side and wrapped both arms around Thora. “She was only four.”

“I’m sorry,” Thora murmured. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked…”

He kissed the top of her head. “It’s fine. …You’re actually the first person I’ve told this to.” Nuzzling her, he let out another sigh before pulling away and sitting up. Before rising to his feet, he pulled on his tunic and rolled his neck; Thora heard his bones pop a couple of times. Getting to his feet, he added another log to the fire and went over to his supplies. After some moments of digging around, he pulled out a pan, some vegetables, and a circular, wooden container.

“Do ya want t’ use any o’ my herbs an’ spices?” she asked, also sitting up.

“Sure. Do you have cumin, by any chance?”

Shaking her head, she stood up and went over to her saddlebags. “No.” She grabbed a small, wooden box and carried it over to Dagur, who thanked her as he took it. “Cumin an’ I don’t get along very well.”

His brow rose as he flipped open the latch. “How so?”

“If I touch it, I get all red an’ itchy; if I eat it, it tries t’ kill me; if it’s used in a poison an’ gets in my blood, well, then ya best hope Ormr is around.”

Cringing, he began looking through the small, glass bottles of spices and herbs. “That’s…really unfortunate. It’s one of my favorite flavors to use with meat -especially pork.”

“ _You_ can go ahead an’ eat it. Just don’t do it around me or kiss me afterwards,” she chuckled. Going back to her things, she started to pull on her boots.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You still have another question left,” he reminded her. Using a metal shovel, he pulled some coals away from the main fire, doing his best to get them under a small, metal grate.

“I used it.”

“When?”

“When I asked ya if ya wanted t’ use my herbs.” When he looked over at her once again, he found a teasing smile on her lips. “I’m serious. I couldn’t think o’ anythin’ else t’ ask, so I went with that.” Her tail reached over and grabbed her cloak, pulling it within reach of her hand. “I’m goin’ t’ go check on Death real quick, alright?”

“Be careful,” he told her. “The snow from last night made the pathway fairly slick. Also, there’s a small herd of wild boar on the island and they’ve been by. Keep a sharp eye out for them.”

She nodded, pinning her cloak in place. “Will do, though I’m sure Death will protect me if they decide t’ show up. They’d probably make a good snack for her, t’ be honest.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure they would.” As he opened the wooden cylinder, Thora took her leave of the cave. Inside the container was a large amount of fat -bacon fat, to be precise. Using his knife, he scooped out a small bit before putting it into the pan.

‘I thought dragons only ate fish,’ he thought, setting the pan on the grate. He made quick work of slicing up some carrots and parsnips while the fire melted the fat. ‘Then again, if dragons _only_ ate fish, there’d be no fish left for us humans…Makes sense they eat other things.’ Putting the diced vegetables into the now-hot pan, he pulled out the jars of salt and pepper from the spice box.

After seasoning the vegetables, he took the elk heart and sliced it into long, thin pieces. These he coated in a mixture of salt, pepper, rosemary, thyme, and ground, dried onion before setting aside to marinate for a bit. The contents of the fry pan sizzled quietly, the heat just enough to slowly cook them.

Dagur let out a heavy sigh and brought his knees to his chest, resting his elbows on them. ‘I’m glad she didn’t press for more information on my family,’ he thought. A scowl came to his face as he stared into the flickering coals of the fire. ‘Especially about Oswald. How am I supposed to tell her that he just disappeared one day? I’ll have to tell her one day, certainly. After all, it’s not every day a chief just _disappears_ like he did…Leaving his seventeen-year-old, inexperienced son to lead their people.’ His lip pulled back in a snarl as he clenched his fists.

‘He didn’t even leave me a letter! What kind of father does that to a kid? What kind of father just decides to leave the burden of ruling a tribe out of the blue like that!? No warning, no preparation –NOTHING!’

Jumping to his feet, he started to walk in a circle around the fire. ‘He abandoned me when I was most vulnerable. Just like Hiccup abandoned me. Just like—Just like _the gods_ abandoned me.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and cursed under his breath. ‘No. Not all the gods abandoned me. Just…just most of them.’

He glanced up at the roof of the cave, sighing. ‘I told Thora I’d tell her about my relationship with the gods…How am I supposed to tell a _Völva_ that I have very little faith in the gods anymore? She practically _depends_ on the gods to do her job.’

He ran his hand through his hair again and went to the back of the cave, to the privy. After relieving himself, he washed his hands in the waterfall before rummaging through his supplies. ‘It’s something I _need_ her to know, though. I don’t want her to unknowingly ask something or say something and I blow up again.’ Shaking his head, he found another wooden container and, upon opening it, found that it contained barley flour.

Taking the container back to where he had the food cooking, he sat down yet again. He gave the vegetables a quick stir before shoveling more coals under the grate. The fat in the pan started to sizzle louder thanks to the increased heat and the vegetables started to turn brow around the edges. Dusting the strips of heart with the flour, he made sure to stir them around with his hand in order to thoroughly coat them.

Dagur was removing the vegetables from the pan and filling it with more fat when Thora came back. He glanced up at her, flicking a bit of flour into the melted fat; it sizzled the second it touched the liquid.

“How was Death?” he questioned. His brow rose at his words, finding it to be an odd phrase to say so casually.

“Nowhere t’ be seen, t’ be honest.” Unpinning her cloak, she gave it a shake. “She’s probably out hunting. I could hear her a little ways off.” Using her tail, she gathered all her braids together and pulled them over her shoulders as she tossed her cloak aside. “Do ya want any help?” she questioned, watching as he laid strips of heart into the fat.

“No, but you can get me a plate for the meat and something to pull it out of the pan with.”

Doing as he requested, she soon knelt beside him, a plate and two-pronged fork in hand. “It smells good,” she told him. “What did ya end up seasonin’ the meat with?”

He shrugged, taking the fork and using it to take the strips from the pan only to add more in their place. “Salt, pepper, rosemary, thyme…oh, and some of those dried onions you have. And barley flour to give it a nice crust.”

She nodded in understanding. “I got t’ admit, I wouldn’t have thought ya t’ be the type who cooked or knew how t’ season things.”

Again, he shrugged, but a cocky grin had come to his face. “I’ll admit, cooking is supposed to be the woman’s work, but when you go out hunting as much as I do, you got to learn how to make food you _want_ to eat. Otherwise, you’re going to put off feeding yourself for as long as possible.”

“True,” she chuckled. Reaching behind him, she subtly grabbed one of the raw strips of heart. “That’s how my da’ learned t’ cook. Sadly, it’s a skill Uncle Stoick never quite learned.”

He glanced over at her just in time to see her take a bite of the raw heart. “What’re you doing?” he questioned, frowning.

Thora looked a bit puzzled. “Eatin’ some meat…?”

“That’s still raw!”

“Aye? So?” She then smacked her forehead with her tail. “Never mind. It’s a habit I picked up while at my brothers’.” Sighing, she popped the rest of the meat into her mouth, chewing it slowly so she could savor the mixture of flavors. “Trolls can eat most meats raw if they want,” she explained. “It doesn’t make us sick like it does humans. I prefer meat cooked most o’ the time, but heart is one o’ the organs that’s good both raw _an’_ cooked.”

He stared at her for a minute longer, his lip slightly drawn back in disgust. “I’ll…take your word for it,” he mumbled before turning back to cooking. He muttered something about how eating raw meat was gross and animalistic only to get thwacked by her tail. “Right. You can hear me.”

“Aye,” she blandly retorted.  Shaking her head, she brought her knees to her chest and let her attention fall to the fire.

For a nearly half an hour, there was silence between the two. The pile of cooked heart continued to grow until Dagur set aside the hot pan. He grabbed the bowl of still-warm vegetables and set it beside the plate of heart; his signal that dinner was complete. In silent agreement, they decided that utensils were useless, as everything was large enough to grab with their fingers.

Halfway through the meal, Thora got up to get them something to drink. Dagur watched her as he slowly chewed a bit of carrot. He sighed as she sat down with a flask and took it when she offered it to him.

“So…the gods,” he murmured after taking a drink. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that his mouth had been filled by cider. It would help him relax as he talked.

“Speak at your own pace,” Thora quietly advised. She, too, took a drink of the cider. She hid her surprise as the alcohol slid down her throat; she thought she had grabbed her _water_ skin.

Nodding, he plucked up another piece of heart. “It doesn’t matter,” he told her. “Just…try not to hate me any more than you already do, alright?”

Thora nodded, feeling her cheeks grow a little warm.

Dagur was quiet for a moment, chewing on the piece of meat. After swallowing, he wiped his fingers on his trousers before leaning back, resting his weight on his palms. “I’ve lost my faith in the gods,” he began. “Not all of them, but most. Specifically, I have no faith in the Æsir anymore. Every time I’ve sought them for help, they’ve done nothing except make matters worse.”

“How so?”

“Well…when my sister disappeared. I searched all over Berserk for her, praying for the gods to give me _some_ sign of her. Alive or dead, I didn’t care. But they gave me nothing. Then…” He closed his eyes, slowly exhaling through his nose. “Then there was the incident with Oswald. Still no help from the Æsir. When Berk and Berserk were at war with one another, _nothing_ -in fact, it seemed the Æsir were _helping_ your tribe out…

His face hardened and he opened his eyes, snarling at the fire. “The final straw came while I was in jail,” he growled. “I didn’t show it, of course -I wanted to be a good example for my men- but I was _scared_. I’ve heard of the things Alvin the Treacherous has done to his enemies -his younger ones, especially.”

Thora frowned. “Wh-what kind o’ things?” she quietly asked, despite not really wanting to know the answer. “Alvin was never really brought up on Berk…”

“Use your imagination.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he let out a humorless laugh. “He’s a cruel man and he’s done his fair share of torturing people. Thankfully, he took a _bit_ of leniency with me and I didn’t suffer the same as the Outcasts who had betrayed him.” Shaking his head, he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “He did, however, throw me in a maze and leave me forced to take desperate measures in order to escape.”

Pointing at the scar on the right side of his face, he smiled wickedly. “Got this all because Alvin made a little bet with one of his men,” he explained, his voice eerily calm. “He fed me a drugged chicken and, while I was unconscious, bound my hands behind my back and tossed me in the middle of that labyrinth. I had no choice but to use my own blood to navigate my way through those passages.

“Did the Æsir help me?” he shook his head, quietly laughing. “Not once. But the Vanir…” His entire demeanor changed, a tender look coming to his features. “The Vanir were there for me. Freya, especially.”

“H-How did she help ya?” she asked, her voice soft. ‘She’ll help Dagur, but punish me?’ she thought. ‘I don’t really see how that’s fair…’

Carefully shoving the plates of meat and vegetables out of his way, Dagur scooted closer to Thora. He slipped an arm around her waist before resting his head against her torso. “She was always there for me. Whether she was comforting me in my dreams or whispering words of wisdom to me while I was practicing my sword skills…”

Dagur reached up and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, a loving smile on his lips as she leaned into his touch. “She calls me her chosen one.”

At that, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Her chosen one?” she repeated. “Why is that?”

He nodded, moving onto his knees. Cupping her face, he kissed her deeply and smiled against her lips. He suddenly pulled away, letting out a genuine laugh. “You know, I haven’t the slightest idea!” he cackled. “I’ll be sure to ask her about it next time she comes to me.” Kissing her forehead, he plopped back down and pulled the plate of meat towards him.

Thora watched him for a moment, biting her tongue. ‘Should I tell him that Freya hates me?’ she thought. ‘Or should I keep quiet? He’s opened up a lot to me already. It would be fair of me…but how can I let him know that his favorite goddess abhors me?’

Her brows once again furrowed as she turned her attention to the heart of the fire. ‘I made an oath not to lie to him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t _hide_ things from him. For a while, at least. Maybe in a couple of weeks, I’ll let him know?’

Dagur nuzzled against her a few minutes later, kissing her shoulder. She glanced down at him, finding a content look on his features as he slowly chewed a piece of meat. Letting out a soft sigh, she closed her eyes.

‘Why do I even care about telling him something like that? It’s not like it’s going to change the fact that Freya’s been kind to him and sees him as her chosen one—whatever _that_ means.’ Scrunching her nose up somewhat, she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

‘Maybe Dagur’s right. Maybe I _do_ care too much about people.’


	30. 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry these last couple of chapters have taken so long to go up! Real Life has been a bit crazy, what with having to take mom to appointments, my car breaking down, daily chores, and spending most of a day getting my newest tattoo done. 
> 
> With that said, this chapter is kind of short -mostly because I wanted to get you guys *something* up before the end of November *and* because it's a chapter that pulls mostly from an episode of RTTE...which, as many of you know, I actually *hate* writing, lol. I like coming up with original content instead of having to stick to a script. ...I also may be a wee bit impatient for the next Dagur chapter. I got something fricken cute planned~
> 
> But, there's some father-daughter bonding in this chapter, so hopefully, that makes up for the shortness.

“What in Odin’s name happened t’ my cauldron!?”

Fishlegs and Snotlout cringed at the mixture of horror and anger that filled Thora’s voice.

“I told ya t’ use the iron cauldrons an’ t’ leave the copper ones alone!” she cried, holding up a medium-sized pot. While the outside was in perfect condition, the inside was entirely blue-green with splotches of black. “How in Midgard did ya manage t’ do this much damage by makin’ _soup_?!”

“Oh, that one wasn’t used for _soup_ ,” Snotlout told her, looking over at Fishlegs. “Fishlegs used that one to clean up Monstrous Nightmare gel from the ground.” There was plenty of smugness both in his voice and on his face. For once, _he_ wasn’t the one about to get in trouble.

Fishlegs bit his lower lip, nervously twiddling his fingers. “I-I-I didn’t know you a-actually used those cauldrons for anything but decoration!” he stammered. “Copper is such a delicate and temperamental metal; what good could it be?”

Clenching her eyes shut, Thora let out a heavy sigh as she buried her face in her palm. “Copper is an extraordinarily good conductor o’ magical energy _an’_ it heats up with extreme evenness,” she sighed, clearly exasperated.

“I’m sorry,” Fishlegs whimpered. “I’m _really_ sorry! It was the only thing I could think of that would hold the gel since the Rumblehorn smashed most of our spare supplies.”

Her brow rose and she peeked out from behind her fingers. “…Rumblehorn?”

“That’s what we’re calling the dragon that keeps storming the base,” Snotlout explained. Taking the cauldron from her, he stuck his head inside of it to better survey the damage. “It’s been trying to chase us away since Saturn’s Day.” His voice sounded metallic and somewhat echoed from within the pot.

Pulling his head out, he handed the pot over to Fishlegs. “Here. You can apologize to her by fixing it. Give this a real good buffing with some shark skin and seal fat and you should have it back to usable condition.”

At that, Fishlegs frowned. “Wh-what? How do you know?”

Snotlout cocked a brow. “Uh, duh? I was apprenticed to Gobber for a while _and_ my mom loves using copper to cook with. Trust me on this. Shark skin and seal fat. Works like a charm. Oh, but first you’re going to want to boil some _fresh_ water in it so any residual gunk comes off.”

Thora let herself collapse into her chair as Snotlout pushed Fishlegs out of the hut. Brushing his hands together, he went over to the hearth, where he plucked up the long-cooled kettle. He set it on the hook to boil and went about tidying up the mess he and Fishlegs had made that morning.

He glanced over his shoulder as he swept carrot tops and onion peels from the counter and into a bowl. “So…ah…I made those bandages you asked me to.”

“Thank ya,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Please tell me that’s the only cauldron he messed with?”

“In that fashion, yeah. Other than that, he left your stuff alone -though, he was really tempted to go loot your notes and herb manuals.”

“It’s alright if he got into those -I know he treats books with the utmost care.” Watching Snotlout take the garbage bowl over to a large bucket, she let her arm drape over the edge of the chair. “How are the twins doin’? I hope they weren’t too much o’ a handful for Fishlegs an’ ya.”

He shrugged. “Eh, they weren’t too bad, to be honest. Weirder than normal, though. Do they normally demand to be held when they’re sick?”

“Aye,” she chuckled. “They’re cuddlers. It’s not so bad until one o’ them pukes or sneezes on ya.”

A look of disgust came to his face. “Ugh. Glad that didn’t happen when they had me pinned down…”

She smiled. “They forced ya into a cuddle pile, eh?”

He stuck his tongue out, but Thora saw that the distaste didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. It was kind of gross because they were all sweaty and snotty.” Seeing Thora’s brow rise, he quickly pointed at her. “Don’t you dare make a joke with my name.”

“Wouldn’t dream o’ it,” she replied, feigning innocence. She cocked her head somewhat as she heard Death Dance greet an approaching dragon. “How’re they doin’ now, though?” she questioned, guessing that Hiccup had just arrived.

“A lot better. They almost refused this morning’s broth in favor of porridge, but I told them to wait for your verdict before trying real food. Ruffnut, especially, since she vomited the most.”

Nodding in understanding, Thora pushed herself upright in her chair. Seconds later, there was a knock on the door and, before either she or Snotlout could react, it opened and Hiccup came in. His face was filled with anxiousness and worry, though he sighed in relief when he saw his cousin sitting across the room.

“Good. You’re alive,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“That I am,” she replied. “An’ I’m unhurt as well, just like Dagur promised.”

Hiccup grabbed a stool as he crossed the room, setting it beside her chair. “Physically, at least.” Sitting down, he looked his cousin in the eye. “Tell me everything.”

Her brow rose. “There isn’t much t’ tell, t’ be honest. We had a few arguments, but resolved them with words. There was a lot o’ talkin’ ‘bout our pasts an’ our current lives…we’re tryin’ t’ learn more about one another.” Her tail rose up and pulled her braids over her shoulders.

“Nothing about what he’s got planned?” Hiccup asked.

“Hiccup, even _I_ know they promised not to talk about that stuff,” Snotlout suddenly interjected. “Dagur’s _deranged_ , not _dumb_.”

Blinking Hiccup looked over at Snotlout in surprise; he hadn’t seen Hookfang outside. “Snotlout…? Why are—”

“He’s been helpin’ me the last few weeks,” Thora answered before he could finish. “But he’s right. We didn’t talk about that sort o’ thing. I’ve told ya that it’s part o’ the marriage contract that we _don’t_ discuss strategies an’ whatnot.”

Hiccup slowly nodded, though he was still a bit unsure about Snotlout’s presence. “Er…so…you two just talked?”

“For the most part. Which one ya lookin’ for, Snotlout?”

“Chamomile.”

“Bottom shelf, far left. No, the other shelf. Aye, there ya go.” She smiled slightly as Snotlout grabbed the jar of tea. “Dagur went out an’ hunted us dinner on the second night. He scored a nice, big elk—Damn it!” She lightly hit the arm of her chair, making Hiccup and Snotlout’s eyes widen in surprise and fear.

“What? What’s wrong?” Hiccup demanded, lurching forward.

“I forgot t’ ask him what herbs he used on the elk heart!” She cursed again before covering her mouth as she yawned. “He used a really tasty mix on the heart before fryin’ it. I’m sure it’s good enough t’ even get _you_ t’ eat heart, Hiccup.”

Rolling their eyes, the two men relaxed.

“I doubt that,” Hiccup replied. “It’s too tough and gamey for me.” Running his hand through his hair, he glanced over his shoulder as Snotlout added the tea to the kettle. “But, seriously, Thora: Nothing bad happened? He didn’t go into one of his ‘fits’ or anything, did he?”

“Depends on what ya mean by ‘fit’. Like I said, we got into a couple o’ arguments, but we resolved them without violence. Dagur—” She bit her tongue, glancing away for a moment. “Dagur put an honest effort into tryin’ t’ be a good husband. He found us a cave for shelter, he helped with the cookin’, he hunted…he also brought a lot o’ supplies in addition t’ my own.” When she looked back at Hiccup, she found a scowl on his face. “What?”

“You said he didn’t hurt you.”

She frowned. “He _didn’t_ hurt me.”

“Then why do you have a large bruise on the left of you neck?”

Feeling her cheeks grow dark, Thora reached over and felt the left side of her neck. She bit her tongue, cursing under her breath when she felt the tender spot that was the love-mark Dagur had given her.

“I-It’s not like _that_ ,” she stammered, unable to look him in the eye. “It isn’t an _injury_ -”

“Like Hel it’s not!” he argued, rising from his seat. “A bruise is a bruise, Thora! He _hurt_ you!”

Snotlout suddenly grabbed his shoulders and forced him to sit back down. “Calm down there, Mr. Over-Protective,” he half laughed, half scolded. Peeking over his shoulder, he grinned cheekily at Thora. “Obviously, Hiccup here has never given or received a love mark before.” He then snorted. “Who’d want to give him one, though?” Laughing, he returned to making tea.

“A ‘love mark’?” Hiccup repeated, brow rising. “What kind of person calls a bruise a ‘love mark’?!”

Thora found herself very much wishing she had remembered about the mark so that she could have kept it hidden. Using her tail, she pulled her hair back over her shoulder, using the braids to cover the mark. “It’s given by… _intense_ kissin’,” she mumbled, cheeks still burning. “Sometimes bitin’, too…”

Hiccup’s jaw fell slack and his cheeks turned dark red; behind him, Snotlout was snickering wildly. The latter stepped around the stool, handing a mug of tea to Thora and forcing one into Hiccup’s hand. He then lightly patted Hiccup on the back, waved at Thora, and took his leave of the house -still laughing to himself.

Inside, though, many awkwardly silent minutes passed. Thora sipped her tea; Hiccup stared blankly into his. Across from them, the fire popped and crackled as it consumed the dried wood.

“So…you two… _legalized_ the marriage?” Hiccup finally questioned after what felt like forever.

“That’s one way o’ puttin’ it, I guess,” she murmured, cheeks still dark as she sipped her tea.

He sighed heavily, slouching somewhat. “I was hoping that exact thing _wouldn’t_ happen. At least then, you’d have a loophole for divorcing him later.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he found himself unable to look at her. “Or, rather, it’d make things easier.”

“I don’t think I’d be able t’ divorce him regardless o’ us consummatin’ the marriage or not,” she replied.

He frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“I already told ya: Dagur’s puttin’ in an honest effort t’ be a good husband. Unless he somehow falls out o’ love with me or loses his temper beyond even his control, I don’t see us gettin’ a divorce.” Shrugging, she wrapped her tail around her mug of tea and set it over on the table. “But, this at least is givin’ me the chance t’ get close t’ him and try t’ sway his mind into bein’ our ally again. Not everythin’ ‘bout this union is bad.”

Finally, he looked at her, his face devoid of emotion. “Is this Thora, the wise-woman, talking or is this Thora, the too-caring, talking?” he asked, sarcasm in his voice.

She glanced up at him, her eyes widening somewhat. “Did ya just call me ‘too-caring’?” Her voice was quiet, the but her hurt was obvious.

“Yes, I did -and I said it because it’s _true_. You care too much about people and you want to help everyone, even if they’re your _enemy_.” Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and looked down at his tea once more. “I’m not saying it’s a bad trait to have. I’m just trying to say…That is, I mean…”

“That it’s an annoyin’ trait,” she quietly finished. “I know. Trust me: I’m the one who has t’ _live_ with it. But I’ve seen a side o’ Dagur ya haven’t see. A side ya probably _won’t_ see for a good, long while. He does have a carin’ side, Hiccup. He really does. Aye, it’s goin’ t’ take some work t’ quell all the rage an’ jealousy in him in order t’ bring out more o’ his sweet side, but…” Closing her eyes, she slouched down in her chair once more. “I know it can be done.”

He nodded in understand, despite knowing she couldn’t see it. “I guess I’m just being impatient,” he replied after a moment. “I’m so used to getting instantaneous results from plans that the time required for this plan of yours is just…strange to me.”

She couldn’t help but muster a smile at his words. “Ya always were the impatient one.”

Shrugging, he, too, smiled. “I mean, have you _met_ my dad? He’s the chieftain of impatience!”

 

* * *

 

 

Everyone was fast asleep in the clubhouse. Riders were snuggled up to their dragons and, in some cases, each other. Quietly snoring, the twins clung onto Thora while, towards the back of the clubhouse, hidden by Stormfly and Toothless, Astrid was cuddled up beside Hiccup. Snotlout, on the other hand, sat outside the clubhouse, bundled in blankets and furs as he did his best to stay awake.

“Ugh, why did _we_ get stuck on Rumblehorn look out duty?” he quietly grumbled, doing his best to keep his eyes open. Beside him, Hookfang let out a quiet snore as he slept. Frowning, he reached down and lightly flicked the dragon’s nose. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!”

Hookfang grumbled and rolled his eyes, turning his head away from his rider.

Pouting, Snotlout defiantly crossed his arms and grumbled to himself.  “We’re _never_ going to stop that crazy dragon from tearin’ this place apart…” Try as he might, he was unable to keep himself awake. Soon, the warmth and comfort of the furs lulled him into a light slumber.

Nearly half an hour later, Hookfang was jolted awake as something painfully pulled on his tail. He cried out in pain, hitting Snotlout’s helmet with a blast of fire. Letting out a scream of surprise and fear, Snotlout raced inside the clubhouse, shouting.

“INTRUDER ALERT!” he cried, running around the room. “INTRUDER ALERT! OW OW OW!” Realizing the pain was coming from his helmet, he grabbed it by the horns and threw it into a water trough. “Ahh…sweet relief…”

“That’s the third time this week!” Astrid cried, racing outside. Hiccup was close behind.

“The Rumblehorn is heading for the eastern shore,” he called out, pointing at their elaborate warning system. “Everyone, saddle up! You know the drill!”

While the riders raced to their dragons and took off into the night, Thora and Death Dance darted outside. Scooping up her rider, Death Dance soared down to the ground. She slowly turned around and around, peering through the dimly-lit night in order to see any approaching intruders.

Thora, on the other hand, kept her eyes shut; her ears, however, were carefully listening to everything around them. It was an almost hard task thanks to the combination of her racing heart, the rattling of Death Dance’s bones, and her protective huffing.

“Shh, girl…” she murmured, patting the side of her neck. “I can’t hear too well with ya makin’ all that noise.”

Death huffed once more before doing her best to stay silent, which involved her staying completely still.

For many minutes, they could only hear silence and see pale moonlight. Then, both let out yelps of surprise as, seemingly from nowhere, a massive figure came darting towards them: The Rumblehorn. Death roared as she spun around, trying to hit the mass with her tail. Their adversary dodged the attack and chose to instead crash through one of the main supports for a lookout tower.

Thora cursed, tugging on Death’s reins to make her get out of the way. She was able to throw herself forward far enough to avoid getting crushed by the tower as it crashed to the ground. The sudden jolt of her jump, however, since Thora flying from her back. Another curse left her mouth as she slammed into the earth and slid a yard or two on her side before coming to a halt.

Pushing herself upright, she watched as Death Dance chased after the Rumblehorn. Both dragons headed towards the forest, though the Rumblehorn made sure to take the path of most destruction. Fencing as well as defensive spikes were torn from the ground and shattered to pieces.

“Death! Get back here!” she called. As she started to get to her feet, she winced; feeling along her left shoulder, she could feel torn fabric as well as the warmth and stickiness of fresh blood. “Ow…Ugh. I’ll deal with you later.”

Shaking her head, she started to hurry after the Boneknapper and Rumblehorn. “Death! Come here, girl!” she called out once more. Despite Death Dance’s size, she knew the Boneknapper was no match for the Rumblehorn -not when it was so sneaky and clearly just as strong as her.

A few minutes later, Death came limping out of the trees. Through the moonlight, Thora was able to see the mixture of shame and defeat on her dragon’s face.

“Got away, did it?” she sighed, meeting the Boneknapper halfway.

Death sadly clacked her jaws, hanging her head. She then twisted around and lifted her wing, looking at her leg. Frowning, Thora went over and gently ran her hand along the exposed bits of skin. Death watched as her hand was engulfed by soft, blue light and she let out an appreciative croon as some of the pain in her leg was alleviated.

“Did it ram into ya, love?” cooed Thora. She couldn’t feel any internal broken bones, but some of Death Dance’s armor bore fresh chips and cracks. Thanks to her magic, though, she was able to feel the beginnings of swelling as well as tense muscles.

She made a noise that Thora knew to mean ‘no’.

“Then ya must have tripped.”

Death nodded, hanging her head once more.

Shaking her head, Thora sighed. “I want ya t’ go wade in the ocean for a bit, alright? Fly over, if ya can, an’ try t’ land on your unhurt leg, alright, love? There’s not much I can do for ya, especially with an injury like this.”

Giving Thora a nuzzle, Death Dance rested her weight on her good leg, waiting for her rider to get out of the way before spreading her wings and flying to the beach.

A small smile came to Thora’s lips as she watched her dragon, but it quickly faded as her shoulder began to throb. Cursing once more, she began picking her way through all the debris, heading for the stairway that would take her to her hut. By the time she reached the stairs, however, she could see warm light approaching the Edge and could hear the familiar voices of her friends -and someone else.

“For the last time, Snotlout, I did _not_ chase away that Rumblehorn! Now, I see your base up ahead. Let’s see what ya’ve done with the place, eh?” Gobber, as well as the riders, came out of the underbrush.

“Da’?” Thora squeaked, her eyes widening. A smile spread across her face.

“Lovey!” Grinning, he scooped his daughter up as she ran over and hugging him. “Surprised t’ see me, are yeh?”

“O’ course I am,” she laughed, more than a little surprised when he easily held her off the ground. “When did ya get here?”

“A few hours ago, but evidently I sailed t’ the wrong side o’ the island.” He gave her an extra squeeze before setting her back down. “Got caught in one o’ the Rumblehorn traps, though.”

She frowned. “Ya did? Ugh, I’m sorry…”

Hiccup cleared his throat. “Speaking of the Rumblehorn…looks like it made an appearance here.”

“An appearance?” Astrid scoffed. “More like it had a party and trashed the place!”

Feeling her cheeks darken, Thora rubbed the back of her neck. “Aye, it did. Death an’ I tried t’ stop it, but that is one fast an’ slippery dragon…” Shaking her head, she sighed. “Death chased it for a lil’ bit, but she ended up hurtin’ herself in the process.”

At that, Hiccup frowned. “How bad is the injury?”

“A sprain. I made her go rest her leg in the ocean for a wee bit.”

He nodded in understanding. “So nothing terribly serious?”

“No. But…one o’ the lookout towers is goin’ t’ have t’ be rebuilt.”

At that, Snotlout rolled his eyes. “Ugh. We just finished rebuilding it yesterday!” He then shot a glare at the twins. “It probably would have held up better if you had left _me_ in charge of building it instead of those two mutton-heads.”

Ruffnut punched his arm. “Hey -at least we _built_ it! You were off elsewhere, being…lazy, probably!”

“Um, excuse you? I was helping Thora.” He rested his hands on his hips, glaring at her once more. “I wasn’t being _lazy_.”

Gobber shook his head, turning his attention back to Hiccup and his daughter. “Other than the mess that dragon made, this place looks fairly good. Your da’ would be proud o’ ya if he could see it!”

Hiccup smiled, his cheeks turning a bit pink. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Well, ya won’t be glad t’ hear that I’ve come with distressin’ news ‘bout him.”

Thora frowned. “What? What’s wrong with Uncle Stoick?”

Gobber waved dismissively. “Oh, he’s fine!” He then paused, thinking over his words. “Then again… _not_ so fine.”

“Gobber, you’re killing me,” Hiccup told him, his voice a mixture of worry and sarcasm. “Is my dad alright or not?”

“Oh, he’s still as fit as a dragon! …Unfortunately, he’s as ornery as one, too,” he chuckled. “No offense,” he quickly added, seeing the unamused look Toothless gave him. “But…I’ve never seen him like this. Angry, shoutin’ at everyone…” He scratched his chin with his hook, frowning.

Hiccup’s brow rose and he glanced over at Thora, who shrugged. “Actually, that sounds like vintage ‘Stoick the Vast’ to me,” he stated.

Gobber cocked half his brow, putting his hand and hook on his hips. “Ya honestly think I would have sailed in a boat by myself for a week if it were ‘vintage’ Stoick the Vast?” he scoffed. “He’s drivin’ the village _crazy_!”

At that thought, Hiccup winced. “Er…alright, I guess I’d better go see what’s going on with him,” he murmured, looking over at Toothless.

“Good idea,” Thora told him. “I’d go, too, but I don’t want t’ push Death with such a long flight when she’s injured.”

“Good point. Anyway, between you and Astrid, I think the base is in safe hands,” he chuckled. He looked over to Gobber. “You want to ride back with me and Toothless?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Gobber limped over to his daughter and gently set his hook on her shoulder. “Actually, I think I may stay a while,” he told him. “Help repair your wee dragon base, see if I can offer up some o’ my…” He hushed his voice and leaned closer to Hiccup, his hand hiding his lip movements from the nearby dragons, “ _dragon-killin’_ experience t’ help defend against that Rumblehorn. An’ catch up with my daughter, o’ course!” He let out a hearty laugh. “If there’s time enough left, I’ll take Tuffnut up on that clubbing.”

Thora cocked her brow, about to question what he meant, but Hiccup spoke first. “So, basically, you’re hiding out from my father,” he chuckled.

Gobber shrugged innocently. “One _might_ look at it that way,” he answered, wearing a cheeky grin.

Mounting Toothless, Hiccup rolled his eyes with a grin. “Well then, looks like it’s just you and me, bud.” Patting the dragon’s neck, he hooked his peg leg into the saddle and the two of them took off.

“Since it’s still dark out, can we clean this mess up in the morning?” Fishlegs questioned through a yawn. “Doing all that work would be kind of dangerous just by lantern light.”

Astrid nodded in agreement. “That, and I think we’re all a bit too tired to function properly now that the excitement is wearing off.” Stretching her arms above her head, she, too, yawned. “We’ll go get a few hours of sleep and then regroup at breakfast. From there, we’ll decide what to do about the fallen lookout tower.”

The others mumbling words of agreement, the group broke up with most everyone flying off on their dragons. Thora, however, gave her dad a somewhat embarrassed smile.

“Sorry, da’. We get t’ walk back t’ my hut,” she told him, starting to lead him off towards the stairs.

Following her, he shrugged. “Eh, I don’t mind the walk. Like I said: I sailed for a week t’ get here. Walkin’ around on dry land is a nice change.” Gently patting her armless shoulder, he frowned as she hissed in pain. “Are ya alright, lovey? I thought I was bein’ gentle…”

“Ya were,” she assured him, brushing off his attempt to try and help her. “But I forgot my left side is torn up. When the tower fell, Death accidentally threw me off her. I didn’t land too well.”

A heavy sigh left his mouth and he shook his head in a fatherly fashion. “What am I goin’ t’ do with ya, lovey? Everywhere ya go, ya end up gettin’ yourself hurt.”

At that, she pouted and thwacked him with her tail. “Oi! I’ll have ya know that’s only the _second_ time I got hurt in the last few months,” she defensively retorted.

“Oh, really? Only the second?” he teased. “That’s a record for ya! Back on Berk, you were getting’ yourself hurt every few days!” He laughed as he was smacked once more by her tail.

They continued to playfully bicker and banter until they reached Thora’s hut. Both were more than a little surprised to find Death Dance curled up in her roost. She smelled heavily of saltwater; Thora knew she had obeyed healer’s orders and waded around in the ocean for a time before returning home. Death perked upon seeing Gobber, but he made her stay laying down as he gave her a good scratch under her jaw with his hook.

“Sorry it’s a bit o’ a mess in here,” Thora apologized once they actually entered her hut. “I’ve been tryin’ t’ come up with some sort o’ Rumblehorn repellant, but nothin’ seems t’ be workin’.” As she walked by the hearth, there was a tiny flash of blue from her palm and the fire suddenly burst into life, making Gobber curse in surprise.

“By the gods, lovey!” he cried, gawking at the bright flames. “Give your ol’ man a warnin’ next time you’re goin’ t’ magic somethin’ into life like that!”

A cheeky grin came to her lips. “Sorry. Force o’ habit now.”

His brow then rose. “Wait. If ya can do that, then does that mean--?”

“No,” she replied. She lit a couple of candles and sat down, inspecting her injuries as best she could. “For some reason, this island is special. The magic here _wants_ me t’ use it, so it practically floods me when I want t’ do the smallest o’ things.” She scrunched her nose up when she saw the tears in the side of her dress, but even through the dirt and the blood, she could tell that the scratches weren’t serious.

Taking off his cloak, Gobber looked around at the hut. Because it was sized to fit Thora, for the first time in his life, he was left feeling rather _small_. “Fairly decent work you’ve done here, lovey,” he told her, nodding his head in approval. “I see you’ve got all your herbs an’ onions an’ garlic hung up…got your cauldrons all in order…”

Her tail holding a pitcher of water as she poured it into a bowl, Thora smile. “Thanks. I tried t’ keep things simple, since I’m certain we won’t be here for more than a couple o’ years, but I wanted it t’ at least be a functional sort o’ simple.”

His attention turning towards his daughter, he kicked a stool over towards her. Half his brow rose once again as he noticed the studded leather band around her head. “Got yourself a new piece o’ jewelry?” he questioned. He squinted; it somehow almost looked familiar. Shrugging, he mentally shoved the thought away -a lot of Vikings had studded leather as part of their look.

Thora bit her tongue, glad she was looking at her scratches instead of Gobber. “Er…I _guess_ ya could say that,” she replied, her tone betraying the hesitation she felt. Dipping a cloth into the water, she squeezed out the excess before carefully wiping away the dried blood and dirt from her arm.

“I don’t like the tone ya just used, young lady…”

“Er…well, I mean, it’s not necessarily _new_ ,” she told him. “For me, aye, it’s new, but t’ the person who gave it t’ me, it’s kind o’… _old_.”

“Just _what_ is that supposed t’ mean? Who gave it t’ ya?”

She tried to shrug his words off with an innocent smile. “I just mean that the person who gave it t’ me had it for a while beforehand.”

“ _Thora_.”

She cringed as she rinsed the cloth off. “Alright, alright… _Dagur_ gave it t’ me.”

His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. “How an’ why--?!”

“It’s a bit o’ a complicated story,” she continued, knowing that Gobber was more than likely going to get _extremely_ upset in a few minutes.

Closing his mouth, he shifted himself on the stool, now resting his arm on the table as he watched his daughter with an unhappy expression. “We’ve got time.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes and paused for a few, brief seconds. “Hiccup an’ I were out gatherin’ herbs,” she began, “on one o’ the nearby islands. We had been there before an’ I found that it had a lot o’ the roots, mosses, an’ herbs I needed for medicinal an’ magical use. We…we _thought_ it was safe at the time, so we left the dragons t’ play together on the beach.” Her tail brushed some hair from her face as she dabbed at a bit of fresh blood oozing from her skin. “We were talkin’ ‘bout various things while lookin’ for moss an’ horehound -y’know, the usual- an’…we fell into a pit trap.”

His eyes widened. “Without spikes, I hope!”

“No, no spikes. But the fall broke Hiccup’s peg leg an’ knocked the wind out o’ me. We were stuck for a spot o’ time before the diggers came t’ see if they caught anything.” She let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair slightly. “It was dug by Dagur’s men. Neither o’ us knew that he had set up camp on the other side o’ the island.”

Glancing at Gobber, she could see that his unibrow was pointed in the middle. “We were bound an’ taken t’ his camp, where we found Death an’ Toothless _also_ bound up. Since the two o’ us were prisoners, we were brought before Dagur. He did the whole gloatin’ about capturin’ us an’ how he was goin’ t’ make us his slaves an’ use our dragons for his nefarious schemes an’ all that, but—I—I came up with a way t’ negotiate our freedom.”

His face paled and his eyes widened; with those words, he now knew _exactly_ what the leather band was. “Lovey…Please tell me…Tell ya didn’t-”

“It was either that or Hiccup an’ I were goin’ t’ be his slaves.”

“But the others would have come after ya!” he argued. “They could have come after ya an’ freed ya!”

She shook her head. “We didn’t tell them we had left…” Rubbing the back of her neck, she closed her eyes. “Hiccup had wanted t’ talk in private, away from the island an’ so, we left.”

Gobber rested his face in his palm. “So you’re tellin’ me that _Dagur the Deranged_ is now my _son-in-law_?”

“I’m sorry, da’.”

It was his turn to shake his head. “What were the terms o’ your freedom, besides marriage?” he demanded. “I know ya had t’ have done somethin’ sneaky in order for ya t’ be here an’ not with him.”

At that, a small smile came to her lips; he didn’t seem to be as mad as she had anticipated. “I only have t’ spend weekends with him,” she explained, “an’ we spend it in neutral territory -just the two o’ us an’ Death. Our first was this past weekend, actually. We’re not allowed t’ talk o’ ‘business’ while on the island.”

“So, you’re usin’ this as a chance t’ get t’ know him better an’ seduce him to our side?” Half his brow lifted as he spoke. Despite his unimpressed tone, she knew Gobber was actually a bit proud of her -she could see it in his eyes.

“Not necessarily ‘seduce’,” she responded. “But aye, we are gettin’ t’ know each other better, which helps with tryin’ t’ sway him t’ our side. Hopefully, in a few months, he’ll be more understandin’ about the past an’ want t’ work out future problems.”

His brow still half-raised, he sighed and tilted his head to the side, scratching his neck with his hook. “Just tell me that I don’t have t’ worry ‘bout expectin’ any grandbabies in the near future.”

Her eyes shot open and her cheeks almost instantly grew hot with embarrassment and surprise. “DA’!” she yelped, taken aback by the comment.

“What? It’s a valid concern!” he defensively replied. “Two young people _alone_ on an island…I’m sure your _primal urges_ are goin’ t’ kick in at _some_ point!” He gave her an extremely fatherly look, making her look away in mortification.

Still blushing furiously, Thora sank down in her chair. “Da’…ya know as well as I that I’m infertile,” she mumbled. “Ya won’t _ever_ be gettin’ grandbabies.”

“Oh really? Says the lass that somehow made Linnea an’ Svea mothers -two _women,_ may I remind ya.”

She bit her tongue. She wasn’t about to tell Linnea’s secret to _anyone_ , least of all her father, so she stammered out the first thing she could think of. “Th-that was a sp-special circumstance! That took a _lot_ o’ magic an’ potion work t’ pull off! A lot o’ things had t’ be in alignment for it t’ happen. Helpin’ them took a lot more than one meager visit t’ me.”

He remained unconvinced, but didn’t push it farther. “If ya say so,” he mused, “but whatever ya did for them, I _don’t_ want ya doin’ it for you an’ Dagur, do ya hear? Not unless he becomes Dagur the Stable _an’_ ya actually fall _in love_ with him. Got it?”

“Ya don’t have t’ worry ‘bout that, da’,” she mumbled, burying her face in her palm. She then peeked out from between her fingers, frowning. “Wait. Why aren’t ya yellin’ at me?”

“Why would I be yellin’ at ya?” He attempted to cover his mouth with his hook as he yawned, but it was a useless endeavor.

She pushed herself upright in the chair. “Because I married Dagur.”

“You said ya did it t’ keep you an’ Hiccup safe, aye?” Thora nodded and he gave her a small, but tired, smile. “Then I’m not goin’ t’ be upset with ya for doin’ it. Well, I _am_ upset about the situation, but I’m not goin’ t’ take it out on you. You were doin’ what ya had t’ do t’ survive.”

She bit her tongue. “T’ be completely honest, I didn’t expect ya t’ be so calm t’ hear that you’ve got a son-in-law,” she murmured. “I was expectin’ ya t’ throw an Uncle Stoick-level tantrum.”

At that, he laughed. “I don’t know whether t’ be offended or amused by that,” he told her, leaning back on his stool. “Ya know I’m not _nearly_ as explosive as him.”

“Aye, but I know this news isn’t the sort that you’d like t’ hear.”

“Like I said: Aye, I’m upset with the _situation_ , but I’m not upset with _you_. I know your reasonin’, lovey.” He then covered his mouth as he let out a loud yawn before stretching. “Off topic, but your ol’ man here needs a bit o’ a nap an’ ya look like you could use a bit o’ shut-eye yourself. Is there anywhere I can sleep?”

“Not at the moment, but give me just a few…” She looked around her home, finding an empty wall nearer the back of the house. Her hand glowing blue, she willed the roots of a nearby tree to lift out of the ground.

Gobber’s jaw fell slack as he watched the roots grow and stretch, weaving themselves together to form the shape of a bed. His jaw still hanging ope, he looked at his daughter just as the light was fading from her hand.

“Lovey, that was amazin’!” he cried. “Is that the sort o’ thing you could do when ya had full use o’ your magic?”

“Just a small bit o’ it,” she explained, rising from her seat and going over to her trunk. “That was relatively easy t’ do, t’ be honest.” Her tail lifted the lid of the chest and she pulled out a spare blanket and pillow. “I made this whole hut with magic an’ used it t’ help build some o’ the other buildings. It was mostly tryin’ t’ get the support beams t’ be safe.” She handed Gobber the blanket and the pillow. “Everything cooperated, as ya could see earlier. …Or maybe not, bein’ that it’s not even sunrise yet.”

He chuckled, taking what he was handed and going over to the newly-created bed. He eyed it with some hesitation; how could a tangle of roots hold his weight? But, as he thought over it more, he realized that he was being silly: When woven together, ropes became much stronger. Surely this wouldn’t be any different.

Easing his weight down, he found the roots surprisingly sturdy. They had a bit of give to them, which he didn’t mind. Kicking off his boot and removing his helmet, he stretched out only to find that this bed was infinitely more comfortable than his one back on Berk.

“When ya come back home, lovey, I may have t’ have ya make me one o’ these,” he told her, tucking the pillow under his head. As he rolled onto his side to throw the blanket over himself, he saw that she was spreading the logs of the fire apart, reducing the light in the room.

“Well, you’d have t’ plant a tree or two by the house,” she told him. “Can’t make a root bed without roots.”

He chuckled, watching as she headed for the stairs. “Ah…maybe in a few years then.”

“Do ya need anythin’ else, da’?”

“Nah. I should be good. Go get yourself a bit o’ shut-eye, eh?”

Nodding, she smiled and started up the stairs. Kicking off her boots, she crawled into her own bed, nestling down among the furs and blankets.

“Lovey?” Gobber’s voice was at normal speaking volume, but she could hear him quite well.

“Aye, da’?” she called, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear her otherwise.

“Just wanted t’ say…I’m proud o’ ya. You’ve been through an’ are goin’ through some tough times, but you’re handlin’ it all far better than any o’ us older adults would, that’s for sure.”

She smiled, her eyes threatening to water. “Thanks, da’.”

“Now seriously. Get some sleep.”

Chuckling, she rolled her eyes before closing them. Sleep came quickly to her, for which she was grateful. It held her in its grasp for many hours before finally letting her wake when it was past noon.

She wasn’t very surprised to find that Gobber had left her hut, though she was a bit taken aback by the bowl of porridge he had left for her near the hearth. A few dried berries were sprinkled over the top in the shape of a smiling face.

After eating the porridge and once more putting on her boots, she headed out in search of her father. Upon stepping out of her hut, however, she found her view of the ocean and neighboring cliffs obstructed by a large, sturdy wall of rock. Atop the wall were four, tall lantern towers -unlike the wall, however, they didn’t seem to be secured very well. Her brow rising, she turned her attention away from the wall and down to the ground, where she heard the Astrid talking.

“This wall is shaping up nicely!” said the blonde. “I got to admit, Gobber: This was a pretty good idea of yours.” She glanced up, catching sight of Thora coming down the stairs. Waving at the other woman, she smiled. “It should stop the Rumblehorn, at least from the ground.”

“I’m goin’ t’ call her ‘Greta’,” Gobber grinned, “after my first love. Large, sturdy… _beefy_ some would say.”

“O’ course they’d say that. All trolls are large, sturdy, an’ beefy.”

He turned, his cheeks becoming a bit pink. “Ah, there ya are, lovey! Ya missed all the hard work!” he teased. He used his hook to motion at the large stack of rocks. “What do ya think?”

“Like a wall,” she joked, shrugging. “How did I manage t’ sleep through all the noise?”

“We did our best to be quiet.” Barf and Belch landed nearby, the twins wearing matching grins.

Tuffnut proudly puffed out his chest. “And it looks like we succeeded because _you,_ young lady, have slept in _past_ noon!” He teasingly clicked his tongue and shook his head in a disappointed fashion.

“Well, gods above know she didn’t get much sleep last night,” Ruffnut continued. “Then again, none of us got much sleep after she woke up from the night-”

Thora’s cheeks darkened. “That’s enough, Ruffnut.”

A worried look came to Gobber’s face and he lightly set his hook on her unhurt shoulder. “You’re still havin’ nightmares, lovey? I thought you an’ Gothi came up with a potion t’ get rid o’ them?”

“Er…well, we did, but it’s complicated t’ make an’ I don’t have some o’ the—” She suddenly paused, her eyes widening somewhat. She could hear the sound of snapping twigs rustling branches on the other side of the wall. “The Rumblehorn’s comin’!” she called out. “From the west!”

Astrid raced over to Stormfly. “Everyone, mount up! Twins, I want you to circle around back and make a wall of fire! Fishlegs, Snotlout: I want you two to-” She was cut off as the rock wall shuddered from some great impact. “In the air! NOW!”

Thora spun around, looking for Death Dance as the wall shuddered once more. With her dragon nowhere in sight, she cupped her hand to her mouth and let out a dragon call, hoping the Boneknapper would hear her through the commotion.

“The wall _will_ hold!” Gobber shouted, pressing his back against the stone. “We built her strong; no single dragon can bring her down!”

Her brows furrowing, Thora heard wood groaning and rock shifting. She looked around, searching for the source of the noise only to curse as she looked up.

“HA!” Gobber cried, joyfully dancing away from the wall. “I told ya my Greta would hold!”

“Da’! Move!” Thora cried, pointing above him.

Frowning, he looked up only to pale in horror: The lantern towers were falling. “Oh, Greta…how could you?” he mumbled, backing away only a few steps. He covered his head, knowing that he wouldn’t make it out of the way in time.

Astrid glanced over her shoulder as she heard Thora cry out. Her eyes widening, she let out a shocked gasp as Gobber, helpless, was buried beneath the lantern towers as they crashed to the ground. Biting her lower lip, she looked back at the other riders, finding that they were (surprisingly) following the orders she had given them. Seeing this, she felt less guilty as she urged Stormfly back to the ground.

By the time she had dismounted, Thora was already at the pile of logs. There was a frantic look on her face as she grabbed the end of one of them; if she wasn’t worried about Gobber, Astrid would have been amazed when Thora sent the log rolling away as if it were a twig.

“Oh gods, please let him be alright,” Thora prayed through clenched teeth. A grunt left her mouth as she shoved away part of a peat basin. “Please…please let him be alright…”

Astrid rushed over, helping her to shift the other part of the broken basin. “He’s fine,” she said, trying to reassure her. “He’s going to be fine.” Another log was moved. “Gobber’s been through worse than this, I’m sure!”

Together, they moved another log pinning a second basin to the ground. Both grunted as they lifted the heavy stone only to let out cries of relief: There was Gobber, lying flat on his back. His helmet lay a few feet away, a fresh dent right in the middle of the forehead. With a small curse, Thora threw her weight against the basin, flipping it away before darting over to her father.

Grabbing his hand, she knelt beside him. He had small cuts along his forearms and a bit of blood oozed out from his lip, but he appeared to be alive. “Da’, can ya hear me?” she questioned. Her tail cradled his head as he groaned. “Da’, are ya hurtin’ anywhere?”

As he opened his eye, she saw that they were unfocused and crossed. “’Ello, Sindri!” he chirped, his voice a bit slurred. His brow then furrowed somewhat and he frowned. “Or are ya Greta? I can’t tell ya two apart. Bah!” Dismissively waving his hook, he grinned once more. “Don’t matter. You’re both as pretty as newly sharpened ax!”

Thora stared at him, filled with a mixture of bewilderment and disgust. Before she could say anything, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back. “That…was odd,” she mumbled.

Astrid’s brow was raised in surprise. “Who’s Sindri?” she questioned as Thora went back to checking for any injuries on Gobber.

“My brother,” she explained. “The youngest o’ the three an’ the only one who shares a real resemblance t’ me.” Blowing a lock of hair from her face, she leaned back on her haunches. “He’s got no serious injuries, but I’m thinkin’ his brain got a wee bit addled from the impact o’ the stone.” Her tail snaked over, grabbing his helmet. She ran her fingers over the large dent, frowning. The metal was at least half an inch thick and was as sturdy as an oak tree.

But falling stone could dent even the strongest of metals.

“Oh…I guess the two of you also look a lot like Greta, then.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “What should we do with him? We can’t just leave him here like this.”

“He won’t be out for long,” Thora assured her. Standing upright, she looked around at the fallen logs and piles of shattered stone. “When the lantern towers are erected next time, make sure t’ shore them up with more rocks around the base _or_ cut the logs shorter. Also, make the fire basins a few inches thinner. That was your main problem; such thick stone made them top heavy.”

Astrid nodded, also observing the mess that had been created. “Well…At least Meatlug should be happy. She’s got a nice big snack when she and the others get back.”

Thora chuckled. “True that.” Cocking her head somewhat, she listened in an attempt to hear what was going on beyond the wall. “I don’t hear much goin’ on. Ya best go check on the others.”

Again, she nodded. “I probably should…I left them, alone, to handle the Rumblehorn on their own. Who knows what kind of trouble they’ve gotten into…?”

At that, Thora frowned slightly. “Ah, c’mon, Astrid -Give them a wee bit more credit than that,” she lightly scolded. “They’re dragon riders! Aye, they can be pains in the arse at times, but they’re good warriors an’ work well together when there’s a serious threat.”

Rolling her eyes, Astrid started to head towards Stormfly. “They need to have more discipline about them,” she retorted. “They can’t just dive into battle, dragons-first, and expect to win every time! They need to learn to strategize; they need to learn patience! Otherwise, they may end up seriously hurt -or worse. I know they’re good warriors, but they could be _better_ ” Before Thora had the chance to reply, she and Stormfly took off into the air.

“Whatever ya say,” Thora sighed. “Just give them more o’ a chance…” Turning around, she looked down at Gobber, who was beginning to stir again. “Now what t’ do about my addled-brained da’…?”

Lifting his head, he saw Thora and gave a sheepish wave; his eyes were still unfocused. “’Ello, mummy! Is daddy goin’ t’ let me ride the sheep today?” he questioned, his voice somewhat child-like in tone.

Shaking her head, she buried her face in her palm. “This is goin’ t’ be a _long_ day…”


	31. 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha...ahahah...Wow, December. You were a dick. 
> 
> Ahem. Sorry this chapter took so long. As you can probably tell by my opening statement there, December kicked my ass. I didn't have very much free time between my car breaking down, a crap load of shopping, and a crap load of cooking. 
> 
> But! Here's 20 pages for you lovely readers to (hopefully) enjoy~

“So…This may not have turned out _exactly_ like I imagined, but hey! What’s inside should be tasty as a sacred golden apple!”

Ruffnut and Thora each had a brow raised as they stared at the platter before them. On it was what looked to be a pile of hardened salt. Tuffnut grabbed a large spoon and thwacked the top of the salt pile. It made a somewhat hollow noise and a tiny crack appeared.

“Is…Is it supposed to do that?” Ruffnut questioned, a look of disgust coming to her features. “I mean, salt normally doesn’t act like that…”

Shrugging, Tuffnut thwacked the pile once more -harder this time. The crack grew in size and part of the hardened salt caved in, revealing a hollow cavity. He used the spoon to push away the chunks of salt, uncovering the head of a large fish. The scents of roasted fish, herbs, and warm wine rose from the platter, making Thora’s mouth water.

As he continued to peel away the salt, he grinned. “Aha! Look at that beauty! Cooked to _perfection_.” Covering his fingers with a kitchen towel, he pried off the largest part of the salt. Steam billowed into the air and he quietly hissed in pain; setting the salt aside, he shook his hand and blew on his knuckles. “It’s fine,” he assured Thora, seeing her look of concern. “The steam was hot is all.” Using the spoon as well as a knife, he peeled back the skin of the fish before cutting it into individual portions.

“Looks good,” Ruffnut complemented. “I’ve got to admit -I didn’t think cooking fish in a mixture of salt and egg whites was going to be a good idea. But, you’ve proven me wrong.”

Her twin beamed proudly. “See, the thing about the salt and egg whites is that it traps all the steam given off by the fish and the wine. That makes the flavor more conglomerated and taste even better,” he explained.

“Concentrated,” Ruffnut corrected. “Not conglomerated. But that makes sense.”

“Wouldn’t the fish be too salty, though?” Thora questioned, still a bit hesitant as Tuffnut slid a portion of fish onto her plate. “After all, ya coated it in the salt before cookin’ it…”

Shaking his head, he then served Ruffnut a bit of fish before finally putting some on his own plate. “Nah. Not only did the skin keep most of the salt out, but the egg whites mixed with the salt turned it into kind of like wet sand, so it didn’t touch the fish too much.” He then began serving them some sort of mashed vegetable.

“And this is…?” Ruffnut asked, her brow rising once more as she poked the white mush with her spoon.

“Mashed cauliflower,” he answered. “Just wait. Once I add the sauce, everything will be _scrumptious._ ” Once he had given everyone a portion of the mashed cauliflower, he went over to the hearth, where he carefully little a tiny pot.

As Tuffnut poured a generous amount of gravy over her plate, Thora glanced up at him. “So, er…tell me again why ya decided t’ make a fancy meal for just the three o’ us?”

He shrugged. “I was sick of eating yak for the third month in a row,” he said. Finally taking his seat across from Thora, he grinned. “Plus, the last couple of weeks have been a pain in the ass, so I thought I’d make a nice meal to celebrate our survival.”

At that, Ruffnut blew a loud raspberry. “Like Hel you made this because you’re sick of eating _yak_!” she cackled. “Especially when we’ve been eating up all those elk Dagur hunted for Thora!”

Turning to Thora, she grinned devilishly. “We know you can’t resist Tuff’s cooking,” she explained, a smug look coming to her features, “or hanging out with us, your _bestest of the best_ friends. So, we planned this little meal in order to get some _information_ out of you.”

Her brow rising, Thora set down her spoon. “Er…information?” she questioned, glancing between the twins.

Tuffnut pouted. “I thought we were doing this the subtle way? We _agreed_ on doing this the _subtle_ way!”

Ruffnut blinked. “Uh, no? We said we’d do this the good Viking-bad Viking way, since we’re having dinner in _our_ hut. We were going to do the subtle way if we were eating dinner in _her_ hut.”

Thora cleared her throat, sighing in relief when it worked to distract the twins from fighting. “What do ya mean, ‘information’?” she asked again. “If you’re talkin’ ‘bout how Fishlegs got all those scratches on his palms an’ knees-”

“No,” Ruffnut replied. “We know that’s because he tripped while being chased by that Catastrophic Quaker or whatever-”

“Quaken,” Thora corrected.

“- _Which isn’t very gossip-worthy_ ,” Ruffnut continued, ignoring the correction.

Tuffnut shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope. Nuh-uh. What we want to know is something _much_ juicier.”

With her brow still lifted, Thora looked between the twins. They were being stranger than normal… “Er, alright? Why don’t the two o’ ya spit it out instead o’ beatin’ around the bush, then?”

“We want to know how Dagur’s been treating you,” they finally confessed, speaking in unison. They stared at her with seriousness written all over their faces. It was unusual to see, but amusing at the same time.

“ _That’s_ all?” She snorted, finding herself relieved that they didn’t want her to give them details about some magical ritual or the like.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s all’?!” Tuffnut cried, almost offended. “You’re our best friend, stuck in a one-sided marriage to Berk’s number-one enemy! Are we _not_ allowed to be concerned?”

“And are we _not_ allowed to know if Berk’s number-one enemy is as crazy in bed as he is outside of it?” Ruffnut added, her brows knitted together. “Because if he is, you _gotta_ give us the details, woman!”

Tuffnut blinked, shocked by his sister’s words. “Uh, what? I thought we were just asking about her wellbeing?”

“Uh, her sex life _is_ part of her wellbeing,” she told him. “If he’s not pleasing her, then I’m sure she’s building up a great deal of frustration and as her friends, it’s our duty to help relieve some of that frustration-”

“Really, you two? _Really_?” Thora buried her face in her palm, sighing. “Ya had Tuffnut make a big, fancy dinner an’ invited me over just t’ ask me details about how well Dagur’s treatin’ me an’ how good he is in bed?” Peeking out from between her fingers, she watched as their cheeks grew a bit rosy. The twins looked away from her, wearing bashful, but somehow innocent, smiles.

“We thought it’d be a little weird if we just asked outright,” Tuffnut admitted, rubbing the back of his helmet.

Ruffnut shrugged, using her spoon to poke at her mashed cauliflower. “And, uh…since you haven’t really told us anything about what goes on there, we were starting to get worried,” she confessed. “Snotlout told us that Hiccup freaked after your first weekend with Dagur because you came back with a pretty big love-mark. Love-marks aren’t supposed to be big and obvious, but small and subtle. So…” She trailed off, slouching down in her chair before shoving some cauliflower in her mouth.

“We thought, maybe, Dagur’s been abusing you or somethin’,” Tuffnut finished for her.

She couldn’t help but smile at their concern; as violent and crazy as the twins could be, they were still sweethearts. “He’s not abusin’ me,” she assured them. “I promise. If anythin’, he’s been exceedingly gentle. That love-mark was just…” Her cheeks grew dark and she turned her attention on her plate. “Dagur got a wee bit overzealous, but I was—I was enjoyin’ it too much t’ notice.”

Tuffnut sighed in relief. “Good. Well, kind of. I mean, it’s good it’s not abuse and that he’s been gentle. He needs to work on his enthusiasm, though, if he’s leaving _that_ big of a love-mark.”

Thora shrugged, her cheeks still hot with embarrassment. “He’s gotten better about the _visible_ ones,” she admitted, rubbing the side of her neck.

Ruffnut seemed to perk, though she remained slouched in her chair. “Oh? So you have ones that _aren’t_ visible?” she asked, a coy smile on her lips.

Giving her a look, Thora sighed. “Food first, then I’ll answer whatever ya want t’ ask o’ me, alright?”

“Deal,” the twins chirped.

Chuckling under her breath, she shook her head and took a bite of the fish. “By the way, Tuff -this is really good.”

He proudly puffed up his chest. “I told you it wouldn’t be too salty,” he grinned. “What do you think of the herbs I used? Do you think they help enhance the flavor of the cod?”

Ruffnut lightly kicked him under the table. “Let her eat, you dork,” she scolded. “The quicker dinner’s over, the sooner we can Thorston sandwich and ask her questions.”

Thora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, the herbs are nice, Tuff. I didn’t think the tarragon would work so well, but there I go thinkin’ again.”

He grinned. “You think of herbs for medicine. I think of herbs for taste. That’s how we differ.”

“She also thinks of them for magic and for poisons,” Ruffnut reminded him. She then perked. “Ooh, you could slip Dagur some poison! Not like, enough to kill him right away. Just enough to steadily kill him over-”

“No.” There was no humor on Thora’s face. “I want Dagur t’ become our ally _an’_ our friend. I won’t do anythin’ t’ harm him -just like he won’t do anythin’ t’ harm me.” Sighing, she poked at her food. “Believe me when I say there’s good in him. It’s just goin’ t’ take a while t’ uncover it.”

Ruffnut slowly nodded, not meeting Thora’s gaze out of embarrassment. “Alright,” she murmured. “Sorry.” She shoveled a large spoonful of fish and cauliflower into her mouth.

“I know ya mean well,” Thora sighed. “I really do. But this is somethin’ really important t’ me. Uncle Stoick an’ Hiccup don’t think I can do it. Even _Gothi_ has her doubts…But I _know_ I can do this. I can get Dagur back on our side.” She rubbed her face, feeling a mixture of guilt and frustration at herself. She knew Ruffnut was -hopefully- joking, but she had still snapped.

The twins glanced at one another, somewhat guilty looks on their faces. An unspoken conversation took place between them, resulting in Tuffnut getting to his feet and excusing himself. Ruffnut watched as he grabbed a small kettle before going into their larder. A few minutes later, he came back out, kettle somewhat sloshing in his hands.

Thora’s plate was nearly empty when Tuffnut set a steaming mug next to her. She looked up at him, startled and confused. He slid a second mug across the table; Ruffnut caught it and pulled it close, holding it with both hands.

“Spiced wine,” he finally explained, returning to his seat. She saw that he had been holding his own mug in the crook of his arm. “You’re tense, so hopefully this will help you relax.”

“I’m not-” The twins gave her a look and she slumped back. “Alright, maybe I’m a wee bit tense. It’s been…hard lately.” Picking up the mug, she took a sip. When she found that it was hot, but a drinkable hot, she took a longer drink. “Thanks.”

“See? _This_ is why we wanted to get you to talk,” Ruffnut gently scolded. “You obviously need to vent about something, so why not vent to us? We’re pretty much unbiased.”

Tuffnut cocked his brow. “Ruff, you suggested she kill her husband a little while ago.”

“Jokingly! I know Thora’s not a murderess.” She pouted. “She could more than easily be one, but she chooses to save lives rather than take them.” Grabbing her wine, she took a long drink from it.

“I know you were jokin’,” Thora assured her. “An’ I’m sorry I snapped. I really am.”

Still wearing her pout, Ruffnut licked the wine from her upper lip and set her mug down. “I’ll consider it a true apology if you let us Thorston Sandwich you.”

She smiled. “I was goin’ t’ ask for one anyway.”

 

~*~*~

 

Whistling to himself, Dagur walked along the path that would take him to his and Thora’s cave. He had a bit of a spring to his step; it was thanks to the bag he had slung over his shoulder. Inside it, he had an assortment of gifts for his wife and he couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw them.

‘She’s going to be so surprised!’ he thought with a laugh. ‘I bet she didn’t think I was paying attention, but I _was_!’ He shoved part of a holy bush out of his way, not caring when the waxy leaves scratched at his skin. ‘It may have taken me a few weeks, some negotiating, and half a small fortune, but I’m pretty sure I got everything she needs…’

Shifting the bag to his other shoulder, he ducked under a low-hanging tree branch. A few yards later and he could both see and hear the waterfall up ahead. He was surprised to also see Death Dance sitting outside her coop, her wings tucked close to her body. As he stepped into the clearing, frowned; she wasn’t wearing her saddlebags.

‘Maybe Thora’s just already down in the cave?’ he thought, brow rising somewhat. ‘Yeah. That’s got to be it. She always brings her saddlebags inside; they’re too nice to keep tied to Death all day anyway.’

Upon seeing Dagur approach, Death Dance lifted her head. She made a soft noise of acknowledgement and stood up, stretching her wings. While she wasn’t fond of Dagur quite yet, she made an effort to get along with him.

“Hey there, Death Dance,” Dagur said, his free hand reaching up. His brows furrowed as she tilted her head down, pressing her snout into his palm.

There was a roll of paper tied to her nasal horn.

“What’s this?” he muttered, gently setting his bag down on the ground. Untying the paper, he unrolled it only to find a letter written in shaky, but familiar, hand.

 

_Dagur-_

_I’m extremely sorry, but I can’t meet up with you this weekend. I promise Hiccup isn’t forcing me to stay -it’s my damned womanly parts. I started my blood week yesterday and it’s left me bedridden. Hopefully it will be over before next weekend. If not, well…at least the pain should be mostly gone._

_Your wife,_

_Thora_

  1. _I really am sorry. I know you wanted to watch Aurvandil’s Fire together and I was looking forward to seeing it for the first time in some years. If things go well…maybe there’s next year? _



Frowning, he read the letter over twice more before slowly rolling it back up. Thanks to Tyra and Vigdís, he knew what blood weeks were and knew how painful they could be. He let out a heavy sigh and unconsciously rested his back again Death Dance.

“Damn it,” he mumbled. “I can’t blame her -I know blood weeks are awful for most women- but _damn_ it! If these negotiations I’ve been making go through, I soon may not get to see her every weekend after this.”

He quietly growled to himself, clenching his fists. A small yelp left his mouth as Death Dance shifted her weight and moved her head, making Dagur stumble backwards before falling on his hindquarters. He winced and looked up at the dragon, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

She returned the look, though she could only look at him with one eye due to his size. Death watched as a look of excitement crept over Dagur’s features, slowly replacing his irritation. She wondered what was going on in his strange, little mind to make his mood change so suddenly.

“You know, Death Dance…you’re large enough that I bet you could easily hide someone on your back without other people noticing,” he said, a mischievous grin on his lips. Getting back to his feet, he brushed off his backside. “I mean, look at the size of the vertebrae you’ve collected! I could hide behind one and not be seen…by dragons _or_ their riders. From the ground, at least…”

Death Dance snorted, blasting him with hot, mildly damp air. She knew what Dagur intended to have her do, but she also knew that to bring him back to Dragon’s Edge would be a bad thing. If she were to take him to the Edge, he would learn of its location and use that to attack her friends. Not only that, but it would also incur the wrath of the other dragons and their riders…

She took a step back from Dagur, warily watching him. He bit his lower lip before lifting his bag up once more, holding it up to her.

“I need to give her what’s in this bag,” he explained. “I can’t risk waiting another week now that I got ahold of these. They’re too fragile; far too fragile to stay on a Berserker ship that gets attacked by dragons every other week. And I know you could just take them to her all by yourself, but…” He looked away, letting out a heavy sigh as he rubbed the side of his neck. “I was really looking forward to seeing her reaction.”

Death Dance closed her eyes and turned away from him. In an almost pouty fashion, she plopped down on the ground, bringing her tail around so Dagur could climb onto her back. As he giddily made his way up to her back, he could hear her making a strange noise, almost like she was grumbling to herself.

And she was.

She knew she was getting herself into a heap of trouble.

 

~*~

 

“Are you _positive_ you don’t need anything else?”

“For the last time, _aye I’m positive_.”

Hiccup frowned, looking at the mass of blankets and furs that was his cousin. Thora was curled up in as small a ball as she could manage, soft whimpers of pain leaving her mouth. Beside her bed, he had placed a large pitcher of steaming-hot chamomile tea in hopes that it would help to relieve _some_ of her pain. He also had tossed some rosemary into the fire to help make the air more soothing, though it seemed to be doing little of that.

“Alright, alright…” He sighed. “I just hate seeing you like this. It’s been _years_.”

“I know. An’ I’ve been hopin’ I’d never get another blood week, but here I am.” She peeked out from under the covers, watching as Hiccup thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Trust me, Hiccup: There is _nothin’_ ya can do t’ help shorten it or make it less painful. Gothi, Ormr, an’ I have tried all sorts o’ things t’ help an’ none o’ them worked. With luck, it’ll be over in a few days…”

With a heavy sigh, he nodded in understanding. “Alright. I just hope Dagur isn’t going to throw a fit because of this. The last thing we need is for him to come kidnap you while we’re out exploring this new island.”

Closing her eyes, Thora clenched her teeth as her lower stomach cramped badly. “H-He won’t,” she stammered through the pain. “H-he knows th-that somethings c-can’t be helped.” As the cramp subsided, she let out a groan of relief. “Just…just try not t’ let anyone get hurt. I don’t know how well I’d be able t’ tend t’ them when I’m like this.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised her. “We’re just exploring, so it’s not like we’re going to get into _too_ much trouble.” He smiled reassuringly at her.

Thora was thankful that her face was mostly hidden; she wore an unconvinced look. She wanted to tell him, ‘Keep telling yourself that, Hiccup -it’s never going to happen.’ Instead, however, she said, “Aye, let’s hope. Be safe an’ have a bit o’ fun. An’ thank ya for makin’ me some tea before you all left.”

Leaning over, Hiccup patted her shoulder with the utmost gentleness. “No problem. You get some rest. We’ll see you sometime on Sun’s Day or Moon’s Day.”

She nodded, clenching her teeth and eyes through another cramp. She heard the sound of Hiccup heading down the stairs and then the door opening. It closed a few seconds later and she let out a soft curse. Reaching out from under the covers, she grabbed the mug of tea he had brought her.

She could feel the cool air outside of the blankets and her fingers quickly grew warm as they wrapped around the warm wood. But, try as she might, she found herself unable to lift the mug. It just would _not_ budge. With a frown on her face, she poked her head out from beneath the blankets only for the heat of the mug to instantly leave her hand.

“Not this nonsense again,” she mumbled, finding that she had tried to grab her tea with her missing arm. ‘It’s been a few months since this last happened,’ she thought, propping herself up with her tail. Actually grabbing her tea this time, she took a small sip. ‘A little weak, but he tried.’ Taking another sip, she set it back down before hiding under the blankets once more.

“Gods, please make this pain stop,” she groaned, rolling over onto her other side as yet another cramp made her abdomen seize in pain. “Either make it stop or make me fall asleep so I can’t feel it for a while…” She gripped at her necklaces, as if they were somehow able to let the gods hear her pleas.

It must have worked, however, as she soon drifted off to sleep.

 

~*~*~

 

_“I was wondering when I was going to see you again.”_

Before he opened his eyes, Dagur knew exactly where he was. The scents of cedar and apples hung heavy in the air and he could feel the damp warmth of steam caressing his bare arms. As he opened his eyes, he found himself looking at the reclined form of Freya, Goddess of war, of love, of death, of magic. She was in a tub of copper, bathing in what looked to be liquid gold.

A coquettish smile came to her lips as she shifted her legs, allowing her knees to poke out of the golden water. “It has been a while, hasn’t it, my chosen one?” she said, her voice like the softest of lambs. Lifting her arm, she beckoned him to come closer.

“It’s been a few weeks, at the very least,” he replied, doing his best to not stare at her nude form. It was a hard task; her entire being was _meant_ to be stared at -to be _worshipped_.

Seeing his cheeks grow red in his attempts to avoid looking at her, Freya let out a soft laugh. “And in that time, you’ve grown shy!” she teased. She then raised a brow and smirked. “Or, perhaps, you no longer find my flesh appealing?” With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder, baring her breasts to Dagur.

His cheeks grew even darker as a look of mild panic came to his face. “N-No! You’re s-still as gorgeous as ever!” he stammered. As he moved closer, he noticed that parts of her skin were covered with dried blood. She must have just returned from claiming newly dead warriors…“It’s just—well, I…uh…You see-”

Freya lifted her hand, silencing him with a smile. “I know, Dagur. I know. You have finally wed the woman you’ve always dreamed of,” she told him. “Though, not in the fashion you would have liked.” Tilting her head back to rest against the tub, she motioned at a cloth draped over the tub’s side. As Dagur picked it up and dipped it into the water, she raised her leg, setting it on the edge of the tub. “Tell me, my chosen one: Has the troll woman made a good wife so far?”

A small frown came to Dagur’s lips at how she addressed Thora, but he didn’t argue. “She has,” he answered, beginning to gently scrub her leg with the cloth. “Though, for the time being, we only see each other on weekends.”

Freya’s brow rose. “And why is that?”

“It’s part of our marriage agreement,” he replied. He swallowed hard; he had forgotten how smooth Freya’s skin was. It was nearly as dark as Thora’s, but the color was vastly richer and bore hints of gold and copper in places. “She is still devoted to her friends, so during the week, she stays with them. On the weekends, we meet in neutral territory and spend Freya’s Day night through Moon’s Day morning together.”

Her brow raised lifted; she didn’t seem very impressed by this arrangement. “She is your wife, is she not?” Dagur nodded. “Then she should be devoted to _you_.” She then shrugged and let out a sigh, reaching for a goblet of cider from the floor beside the tub. “I’ve noticed the troll woman has a habit of changing her devotions…” Taking a sip of the cider, she closed her eyes.

“I know you’re upset about her no longer becoming a Völva,” Dagur told her, “but think of it this way: Your ‘chosen one’ has found _his_ chosen one!” He wore a dorky grin that faltered somewhat when he saw the frown on Freya’s lips remain.

Setting aside her goblet, she sat up and gently clasped Dagur’s chin in her hand, pulling him closer to her. He swallowed hard as he was forced to prop himself up over the tub to keep from falling in atop her.

“You must remember she was _mine_ first,” whispered Freya, her voice low and dark. “She was in training to become one of _my_ followers.” Tilting her head, she gently ran her thumb along Dagur’s lower lip. “That Cæna fellow nearly thwarted me… _You_ , however…”

Gulping, Dagur put on his more innocent of smiles. “Then it’s a good thing you adore me?” he offered, hoping she wasn’t as furious with him as he thought she was.

To his great relief, she wasn’t. “Too true,” she admitted. She gave him a lingering kiss before relaxing once more. “But, I will say I am a bit unimpressed by the way you’ve treated her thus far.”

He frowned, confused. “What? But I’ve been treating her like a queen!”

She shot him a look. “Dislike her as I may, as your chosen one, I must be fair to her. Which you have _not_ been.” Stretching out her other leg, she motioned for Dagur to go back to washing her. “My brother informed me of the blood oath she made -the one where she vowed to never lie to you. I must say, that’s bold of you to make her do such a thing.” A knowing look came to her features. “Especially since you outright lied to her about _your_ family.”

“My family history is too shameful to be honest about,” he suddenly snapped. He flinched, realizing he had done so at a goddess. “S-sorry, milady…”

She merely sighed and reached out, brushing her fingers against his dark-red cheek. “I know your family is a bit of a sore spot for you,” she assured him, “but how do you expect to earn her full trust? How do you expect to win her heart if you don’t tell her the truth as well?”

He leaned into her touch, letting out a quiet sigh.

“If you love her as much as you claim, then you should tell her the truth,” she continued, “as well as continue to prove to her that your love is real and not just an obsessive lust.”

“I _do_ try to prove it -every time we’re together! I tell her I love her, I help her with the cooking, I take care of her when she does too much magic…Even as we speak, I’m heading to her home to check on her because she’s bedridden!” He pouted as he spoke, though continued to wash her leg.

“That is a good starting point, but remember to not be overzealous in your efforts,” she reminded him. “We both know how you can be when you’re… _excited_ and this is no exception. Remember, she is still a sentient being with a mind and emotions.” A small smirk came to her lips as Dagur began washing her thighs. “It is good to spoil her, but not too often…and when you make love to her-”

“Worship her like the goddess she is,” he unconsciously murmured.

Her brow rose once more. “You think her a goddess?” she asked, tone dry.

He swallowed hard; he knew he had made a mistake. “…Well, to _me,_ at least, she’s a goddess.” Dagur knew better than to attempt to lie his way out of this. “Every—Everything about her enthralls me. More than you ever have. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. She’s by no means perfect, but…but that’s one of the reasons I love her.”

Once more, Freya leaned forward. This time, however, she merely lifted his chin with her forefinger and kissed the tip of his nose. “Good answer,” she purred.

Dagur, on the other hand, sighed. “I just wish I could show her how much I really do love her,” he mumbled. “I wish it was easier to prove her that my heart is true…”

“You will get your chance, my chosen one,” Freya assured him. She brushed a lock of his hair back, a gentle smile on her lips. “It is coming sooner than you think, though not soon enough for your liking. You will know when that time comes.”

He looked up at her as if he were a lost pet. “I will?” he questioned. He was beginning to feel the familiar ethereal tug that would drag him back to the waking world.

“I promise. Though…I will warn you: When the time comes, it will not be a joyous occasion.” She lifted her goblet and took another drink. “Until then, I will tell you this: she _is_ warming up to you.” Crossing one leg over the other, she gave a playful wave. “Goodbye, my chosen one. Enjoy your time with the troll woman.” As Dagur faded from sight, she let out a sigh. Closing her eyes as she heard footsteps approach from behind her, she crossed her arms over her chest and sunk a little lower in the water.

“It sounds like things are beginning to go as planned.”

“Let us hope they stay that way. Allfather help us if Skadi doesn’t keep up her end of the bargain.”

 

~*~*~

 

When Dagur woke up, he found himself sprawled out on a pile of dried grass and leaves. He let out a small cry when he saw the enormous skull lightly nudging him in an attempt to wake him. Bolting upright, he shoved himself away only to remember who the skull belonged to.

“Heh…Sorry, Death Dance,” he apologized, patting the end of the dragon’s snout. “You startled me.”

She snorted at him, as if to say that _she_ had been the one startled -not him. Turning her head, she tucked her snout under her wing and let out a long, tired sigh. Dagur cocked his brow as he watched her for a moment before shaking his head and standing up. He looked around only to find himself surrounded by earthen walls, a couple of empty barrels, and a pit of water.

“You got a better set up here than back on Honeymoon Island,” he chuckled, glancing over at the dragon. “Doesn’t really surprise me, though. Thora treats you pretty well. Almost like her child.” He let out noise of surprise when Death Dance used her tail to gently shove him out of her roost. A few seconds later, his nearly-forgotten bag of gifts was tossed out as well; he caught it before it could hit the ground.

‘Well, that could have gone worse,’ he thought, shouldering the bag. Heading for the door of the house, he raised his hand to knock only to pause with uncertainty. ‘Should I knock? What if this isn’t even her hut? …Dagur, that’s stupid. Death’s roost is _right_ there. …But what if she’s napping? I don’t want to wake her…I’ll risk breaking the rules of politeness…’

Slowly, he moved the door handle, hearing it creak somewhat as he pushed the door inwards. Poking his head into the house, he was forced to blink a few times in order to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He stepped fully into the house, closing the door behind him, when he saw no one in the main room. There was a dying fire in the hearth and no candles lit; the only light came from the small cracks in the shutters and doorframe.

He smiled; it was most definitely Thora’s house. The bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling and the multitudes of shelves filled with various jars only helped further prove this. Carefully setting his bag down to make as little noise as possible, he continued to look around. Thora was nowhere in sight. Frowning, he headed for the stairs, creeping his way up them.

As he reached the top step, he held his breath in anticipation. It left his mouth in a quiet sigh as he found Thora, fast asleep, in her bed. He smiled and stepped into the loft, crossing the room and kneeling beside her bed. Reaching out, he gently brushed a lock of hair from her face only to frown; her face was contorted in pain.

“Don’t worry, beautiful,” he whispered. “I’m here for you.” Leaning over, he kissed her temple. “You keep sleeping. I’ll make you some soup.”

Heading downstairs once more, he started off by rekindling the fire. It was a simple task, made simpler by the bountiful pile of firewood Thora had stacked under one of the benches. As the flames began dancing about the wood, the sweet scent of burning fir filled the room. He then lit a candle and started the search for her larder; that was a task made difficult due to how well the door blended in with the rest of the wall.

‘How does she remember where the door is?’ he silently questioned, frowning. ‘I have _wonderful_ eyesight and I just barely saw it!’ His brow rose and he held the candle up, illuminating the shelves of food. ‘Cheese…meats…a few loaves of bread…root vegetables…ooh, what’s in this jug?’ Setting the candle down on the counter, he pulled the jug off the shelf and uncorked it. He sniffed its contents only to have his eyes instantly water and his nose feel as if it were on fire.

“What kind of alcohol is this?” he wheezed, quickly shoving the cork back in place. Setting it back on the shelf, he stuck out his tongue. “It better taste better than it smells, because _yuck_. This, however…”

He plucked a large chunk of aged yak meat from one of the higher shelves. Like all good aged meats, it had a fine layer of blackened, dried meat on the outside, but he knew a delicious treasure was hidden on the inside. “You’ll make a wonderful soup,” he murmured, a wicked grin coming to his lips.

 

When Thora woke up, it was to the urgent need to use the loo mingled with a painful cramp. Biting her tongue through the pain, she managed to get out of bed and downstairs with little trouble. She was so focused on her goal of getting to the privy, however, she failed to notice the Berserker chieftain at her hearth, stirring something within one of her cauldrons; not that Dagur made any attempt to catch her attention. The whimpers of pain leaving her mouth made him silent with pity.

Nearly ten minutes passed before she finally left the privy, having spent most of the time rocking back and forth in an attempt to ease the cramping. It was then she saw the remade fire with the pot of soup sitting over it. As she walked towards it, she was forced to hold onto the table and pause for a minute; her legs felt as if they were ready to give out under her. Taking a deep breath and steadying herself, she stepped forward once more. She was nearly to the hearth when her legs _did_ give out.

A curse flew from her mouth and she attempted to use her magic to help stop her fall, but a pair of strong arms got to her first. She frowned in confusion and looked up only to find Dagur worriedly staring at her. Her eyees widened and her jaw fell slack.

“You’re worse off than I thought,” he said, brows knitted together.

Gathering her composure as best she could, Thora frowned at him. “Wh-what are ya doin’ here?” she demanded. “You’re not supposed t’ be here!”

Helping her over to her chair, he got her sat down before she could collapse again. “I know, but when I got your letter, I got worried. And rightly so, by the looks of it!” He sighed and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be up and about if you’re this weak.”

“I had t’ use the privy,” she murmured, cheeks darkening. “How did ya even manage t’ coerce Death into bringin’ ya here?” Her eyes narrowed somewhat as she watched Dagur turn his back to her in order to check on the pot.

“I asked nicely,” he simply replied. He then remembered Freya’s words about honesty and mentally hit himself. “Uh…well, more like I guilted her into bringing me.” Lifting the lid of the pot, he was greeted by a cloud of beef-and-onion scented steam and the sight of a gently simmering soup. He smiled, glad to see that his creation was turning out like he had planned. Replacing the lid, he turned back towards his wife.

Thora sighed, her hand playing with her necklaces. “I know ya wanted t’ watch Aurvandil’s Fire together, but I’m really in no shape—”

Dagur held up his hand, quieting her. “I know. You’re in a lot of pain and once you get some strength back, I’m helping you right back into that bed,” he told her. “And it’s not so much about Aurvandil’s Fire as it is about…Well, I got you some presents.” He smiled cheekily as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to wait another week to give them to you.”

She cocked a brow, unamused by his answer. “Ya mean _you_ o’ all people were _impatient_?” she questioned, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “I can _hardly_ believe that.”

He pouted. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that bit of sass from you and, instead, I’m going to get you some water,” he stated. “ _Then_ I’ll help you back upstairs.” He crossed the room, opening the door to the pantry.

“How long have ya been here?” she questioned, closing her eyes. “Some hours, judgin’ by the fact ya made food an’ figured out where my larder is.”

“ _That_ was a difficult task,” he called. “I almost didn’t see it because it blended in so well with the rest of the wall!”

“Aye. I had t’ do that so Fishlegs wouldn’t try t’ steal some o’ the lovely cuts o’ meat ya always send me home with.”

Coming out of the pantry with a cup of water, Dagur kicked a stool so that it was nearer to Thora’s chair. He handed the cup to Thora before sitting down. “Well, I mean, they are the prime cuts of the animal. And that sausage we made together was _delicious._ Can’t blame him.” He rested his elbow on the left armrest of her chair, plopping his chin in his palm. “But yeah. I’ve been here…oh, four? Five? Hours. I didn’t want to wake you or draw any attention to the fact that I’m here, so I stayed quiet.”

Cracking open an eye as she took a drink of water, Thora looked down at him. “Ya don’t have t’ worry. You an’ me are the only people here at the moment. _But_ you need t’ leave soon. If the others come back early an’ find ya here-”

He silenced her once more by pressing his finger against her lips. “Not happening. You’re weak, you’re in pain, and you need someone to care for you. As your husband, it’s my job to do just that.” His expression suddenly changed; Thora couldn’t tell if it was one of guilt or of worry. “That and…I need to speak with you about some… _things_.”

“What kind o’ ‘things’?” she asked, voice filled with caution.

Standing up, Dagur kissed her forehead. “Things involving business and how it may interfere with our weekend visits. And the gifts I brought for you, of course.” He pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder before moving to check on the soup once more. This time, he gave it a good stir before tasting it. “Hm.” He went over to the wall of cooking herbs.

She warily watched him. “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t talk about business when together?”

“We did,” he admitted, “but I don’t plan to get very detailed. Don’t worry about it now, though. It’s something better left for morning. Tonight, I want to focus on helping you get some strength back as well as solving your pain problem.”

“I’ve tried everythin’ I know t’ help with the cramps. The pain they cause me can’t be stopped.”

His back still turned to her, he wiggled his finger in a scolding fashion. “You’ve tried everything _you_ know,” he chirped, “but we Berserkers are masters at chasing away pain - _especially_ muscle pains.” Grabbing one of the jars, he cautiously uncorked it before smelling its contents. Bay leaves. Taking three out, he recorked it and put it back on the shelf.

“I’m too tired t’ argue with ya,” she sighed, tilting her head back against the chair. She finished the mug of water as Dagur added the bay leaves to the soup. A few seconds later, she let out a squeak of surprise as he lifted her out of the chair, holding her bridal style. “Wh-what are ya doin’?” she yelped.

“Helping you back to bed,” he replied, wearing another cheeky grin. “I don’t want to risk you falling again, so I’ll just carry you up.” He started up the stairs, taking care to not let her head or her legs bump against either wall.

Her cheeks had grown dark once more. “Y-ya shouldn’t do that,” she mumbled. “Ya could potentially strain somethin’.”

His brow rose as he set her down on her bed. “Thora, my beautiful and intelligent wife, do you _not_ see the size of these muscles?” Holding up his arm, he flexed his bicep for her, as if that was proof enough of his strength. “Carrying you is like carrying a pillow thanks to these babies.” He smirked and kissed his arm before leaning over and kissing her on the lips.

“You are so very _weird,”_ she murmured against his mouth.

He lowered himself so that he sat over her lap, draping his arms around her neck. “You know you love it,” he replied teasingly. Kissing her again, he gently stroked the back of her neck.

Thora let out a soft sigh as she slid her arm around his torso, pulling him closer to her. As she eased them backwards so that she lay against the pillows, Dagur was forced to prop himself up on one arm; the other remained resting against her neck. She nibbled and licked his lower lip, earning a smirk from the Berserker as she kissed him once more.

“Careful, Thora,” he breathed against her skin. “Kiss me like that and I may think you’re in love with me.”

“Just because I enjoy snoggin’ ya doesn’t mean I love ya yet,” she replied, brow rising.

He suddenly laughed and sat up, sounding much like an excited child.

She frowned and somewhat winced; her abdomen was beginning to tighten with all-too familiar pain. “What’s so funny?”

Putting his hands on his hips in a victorious fashion, Dagur grinned down at her. “You said that you don’t love me _yet_ ,” he told her. “Which means I’m working my way into your heart! And that, my love…” he leaned over, kissing the tip of her nose, “is vastly different from the hatred you felt for me just a couple of weeks ago.” His entire demeanor suddenly changed from cockiness to concern as he watched her flinch in pain. “What’s wrong? Are you having a cramp? Are you going to be sick?”

“Cramp,” she mumbled, clenching her eyes shut.

He crawled off of her and she rolled onto her side, curling up into a ball. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dagur reached over and started to gently rub her lower back in an attempt to help ease the pain.

“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain,” he murmured. “Let me go get salve and we’ll see if it helps you any, alright?”

She only nodded, too focused on trying to will the pain away. It was a futile effort and she knew that using her magic would be just as useful -this kind of pain didn’t stem from a wound, so she knew it couldn’t be dulled. Biting her tongue, she rolled onto her front, pressing her hand against her stomach; it worked to somewhat relieve the pain, but not by much.

A few minutes later, Thora felt the back of her shirt lift up. Seconds after that, something cold was rubbed into her skin and she shivered.

“Sorry,” said Dagur, “I forgot to warn you that it’s cold at first.”

“It’s goin’ t’ warm up?”

“Yeah -a whole lot, actually. But the heat is what makes it help the pain go away.” He used both hands to massage the salve into her skin, having to scoop out a bit more to cover the entirety of her lower back. “To be honest, though, we Berserkers didn’t come up with this stuff. When Oswald was still chief, Johann brought this stuff over from Constantinople to see if we’d be willing to try it out.”

She nodded in understanding, quiet groans leaving her mouth. The salve was beginning to warm, causing her skin to tingle somewhat. Dagur continued to massage her back, doing his best to ease her tense muscles.

“Turns out, we liked it so much, it’s one of our most important imports from the mainland,” he continued. “If it helps you tonight, you can have the whole jar. I don’t want you to be in this much pain during your next blood week.”

She shifted, pulling her arm out from under her stomach and instead wrapping it around a pillow. “Whenever that comes around,” she sighed. Her entire lower back felt hot and tingly by now, but it was a pleasant sort of warmth. Combined with Dagur’s massaging, her pain was actually beginning to leave.

“…Doesn’t it come every month or two?”

“For normal people. For me, it’s sporadic. This is my first blood week in nigh two years.” She grunted as Dagur worked at a particularly tense muscle. “From what my brothers told me, this is how it is for many half-trolls.”

Frowning, Dagur gently dug his thumbs into the knot, doing his best to work it loose. “I wonder why that is? Do troll women not have blood weeks?”

“Oh, they do. It’s just that…well, trolls are incredibly fertile an’ humans are hit an’ miss when it comes t’ fertility,” she explained. “So, half-trolls normally end up infertile. Some females are lucky an’ get t’ have normal blood cycles an’ bear as many babies as they want. Then there are the females who are the luckiest -they don’t have blood weeks at all. Others, like me, have unpredictable blood weeks; some _can_ have children, but I fall into the ‘ _can’t_ have children’ side.” She felt Dagur pause.

“O-oh,” he murmured, returning to his rubbing. “You’re…certain about that?”

“Er…considerin’ how many times I’ve bedded Cæna an’ you, I’m fairly certain.” Turning her head, Thora was able to see the look of disappointment on Dagur’s face. She bit her tongue; it almost looked as if he was heartbroken. “Are…are ya alright?”

“Yeah,” he quickly answered. “Just…Can’t say that’s news I really wanted to hear, to be honest. I was looking forward to someday chasing around a little, redheaded quarter-troll or two…” He shrugged, doing his best to not seem affected by this news. “Oh well. I got you for a wife; that’s good enough for me.” He forced a smile, though Thora could tell that it was fake.

Her stomach suddenly filled with guilt and she looked away. ‘Why do I feel guilty?’ she thought, brows furrowing. ‘It’s not like I _want_ to bear his children. With my luck, they’d be yak-shit crazy…’ Sighing, she closed her eyes; Dagur’s hands were making their way up to her shoulders now.

‘…But, I got to admit, they would be kind of cute. Cuter if they were Cæna’s children, though…Ugh!’ She scrunched her nose up and clenched the pillow, glad that Dagur couldn’t see it. ‘Don’t you dare start thinking about children that will never be, Thora,’ she scolded herself. ‘Especially now. You’re a wreck. You’ll only make yourself burst into tears. That’s the _last_ thing you need right now –well, besides the others returning.’

“How are you feeling?” Dagur asked, trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them. “Is this helping your cramps at all? Or is it a useless effort?”

She was quiet for a moment longer; it was only as he reminded her about the cramps that she realized that they were mostly gone. “…It’s helped so much, they’ve practically gone away,” she replied, her voice betraying her surprise. A dull ache and some tension remained, but it was a vast improvement over what she had felt just ten minutes prior.

A small smile spread across his lips and he leaned back, resting his hands on his hips. “That’s great!”

Rolling onto her back, Thora then sat up. “Thank ya,” she said, adjusting her shirt. “I honestly didn’t expect this stuff t’ work.”

Again, he shrugged, but this time he wore a playful grin as he winked at her. “Helps that you have a handsome guy like me to massage it into your skin, I’m sure,” he teased.

Her brow rose, though she allowed herself to laugh. “I’ll let ya keep thinkin’ that.” Her tail crept behind him before lightly thwacking the back of his head. “I could go for some o’ that soup ya made. It smells real good an’ I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

At that, he frowned. “What do you mean, you haven’t eaten all day!?”

“I haven’t been able t’ keep anythin’ down since yesterday afternoon,” she admitted, her cheeks growing a shade darker.

Sighing, he shook his head in a disappointed fashion. “No wonder you’re so weak,” he grumbled, crawling off the bed. “You stay right here. _I’ll_ get you some food.”

“I’m guessin’ I don’t really have a choice in this matter?” she asked, watching him cross the loft.

“Nope.” He disappeared down the stairs as she rolled her eyes.

Slipping out of the bed, she crept over to the privacy wall and looked down at the main room. Dagur was standing on his tiptoes, trying to reach a bowl that was _just_ out of his reach. Thora couldn’t help but smile in amusement; it was like watching a child trying to reach a sweet on the top shelf. A bit of light appeared around her pointer finger and the wood of the shelf groaned as it slid down the wall.

Lifting his brow, Dagur glanced over his shoulder only to find Thora wearing a playful grin as she watched him. He shook his head and grabbed two bowls. The shelf creaked as it returned to its original position. With a small sigh, he set the bowls aside for a moment before disappearing into the larder.

‘Something’s off about him,’ Thora thought to herself. ‘He seems himself for the _most_ part, but there’s just something…something not quite _right_ about how he’s acting. Is he still upset about my infertility?’ Resting her elbow on the banister, she set her chin in her palm. She heard the snap of two-day old bread being broken. ‘Or maybe he’s upset by whatever business talk he needs to have with me?’

From the corner of her eye, she spied her bag of runes sitting just a couple of feet away from her, sitting next to a line of various types of crystals. It’d be a useless effort, she told herself; Dagur planned on talking with her the next morning anyway.

‘Don’t want to force anything out of him,’ she thought, moving away from the wall. Turning to face her bed, she let out a quiet sigh. It was a mess. ‘I already learned that one the hard way.’ As she walked past the bed, her hand glowed; the blankets, furs, and pillows straightened themselves out, giving the sleeping area a presentable appearance once more. ‘It’d be better for the both of us if I just let him take his time.’ She leaned over and started to wash her face and neck in a basin of cool water. She shivered, but it helped her feel a little less disgusting.

“Alright! Dinner is served!” Dagur wore a triumphant grin as he set the bowls of steaming soup on Thora’s bedside table. “Beef and onion soup with bread and cheese.” Brushing his hands together, he looked over at Thora, who was patting her face dry with a towel. “I, ah… _experimented_ with the soup a little bit, I’ll admit.”

Her brow rose as she returned to her bed. “Experimented in what way?” she cautiously asked.

When she was settled, Dagur handed her one of the bowls. “I put the bread _into_ the bowl and topped it with some cheese before pouring the soup.”

With her brow still raised, Thora looked down into her bowl. “Er…that’s not _terribly_ weird,” she murmured. “Though, ah… _why_?”

He shrugged, sitting on the floor and taking his own bowl. “I didn’t want to have to make multiple trips up the stairs,” he admitted with a mischievous smile. “And your bread was hard as granite anyway, so I thought sticking it in the bowl of soup would not only save me a trip, but also soften it up and make it edible again.”

“An’ the cheese?” Using her spoon to scoop up a bit of the steaming bread-cheese-soup mixture, she started to blow on it.

“The cheese is purely because melted cheese is damned delicious.” Copying her actions, he kept glancing between his spoon and her face, wanting to see her true reaction when she tasted the dish. “I almost added in some egg to make it a bit thicker, but I didn’t want to screw it up _too_ much.”

She snorted. “So, ya just screwed it up a _wee_ bit?” she teased. Popping the spoon in her mouth, Thora was expecting to taste some strange, nigh-inedible mixture of mushy bread, sharp cheese, and onions. Instead, she was taken aback by how _good_ the combination turned out. The beefy broth blended well with the melted cheese and the bread made it heartier.

Dagur bit his bottom lip; Thora was staring at her bowl with a strange expression on her face. “Is it bad?” he hesitantly asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Not in the least.” Scooping up another spoonful, she quickly blew on it a few times before ingesting it. “It’s actually really good!”

Hearing this, he perked. “Really?” He shoved his spoon in his mouth, not caring when he dribbled a bit onto his chin. “Hey! It _is_ good!”

Thora couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. “Oh, that’s reassurin’! Ya made this not knowing if it tasted good or not?”

He grinned innocently. “I tasted it a couple of times,” he assured her, “but, with the last-minute additions of bread and cheese, I couldn’t be too sure.” He shoved another spoonful into his mouth, barely getting it swallowed before adding a third.

For many minutes, they were quiet as they ate their dinner. This had grown to be a normal occurrence for them; they had quickly found out that questions were unconsciously asked when the other had a full mouth.

When half her dinner was gone, Thora felt her stomach gurgle uncomfortably. Scrunching her nose up, she set her bowl aside and excused herself. Dagur tried to protest, insisting he help her downstairs, but he was silenced as her hand lit up. The seam of a doorway soon appeared in the wall just a few feet away and swung open.

“Oh. You magicked the privy up here,” he murmured as she dashed until the room. Going back to his soup, he let out a quiet sigh. ‘At least she seems to be doing better,’ he thought, slowly chewing a large chunk of melted cheese. ‘That salve really helped her…Well, that and my _amazing_ massage skills.’ A cocky grin appeared on his lips. ‘Now if only she _wasn’t_ on her blood week…’

The grin suddenly disappeared, being replaced with a frown. ‘But, as enjoyable as making love to her is, it’s—it’s never going to result in children.’ He sighed, slouching forward somewhat. ‘I was really looking forward to someday being the father of her children. I’d be a much better dad than Oswald, that’s for certain.’

He then scowled, glaring down at his soup. ‘I wouldn’t abandon my family like he did. I’d be sure to stick around and actually help raise our children -whether they’re adopted or not. I wouldn’t devote all my attention to just one of them while ignoring the rest, either…’

“Dagur?”

His head snapped up, startled by Thora’s presence. “What?” he questioned, his voice harsher than he meant it to be.

Thora frowned as she tossed aside the towel she had used to dry her hands. “Is…is everythin’ alright?” she asked. She knelt down beside him, a look of concern on her face.

He let out a head sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he replied. “I just…my mind wandered off for a bit there. To not-so-pleasant things.”

“Do ya need t’ talk about it?” She wasn’t entirely sure if she was asking out of genuine concern or not.

“I…I probably should,” he conceded, setting his bowl aside. “I don’t want to, but I know I should. But first, I, uh—“ Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced away, his face filled with guilt. “I lied to you. When I told you about my mother dying and sister disappearing? Yeah…that was all a lie.”

Her eyes narrowed and the concern left her face. In its stead was irritation and anger. “So, ya went an’ yelled at me for not bein’ honest with you only t’ go an’ lie t’ me?” Her tone was dry.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. To be fair, that was when we were _first_ together. We didn’t know each other as well! But now? Now I’m going to tell you the truth. And it involves…” He let out a heavy sigh. “It involves Oswald.”

At that, Thora blinked in surprised; she hadn’t expected him to ever talk about his father. “It-it does?”

He nodded. “Before I start talking though, can I ask you one favor?”

“An’ what would that be?” Her brow rose a bit, betraying her hesitation.

He rubbed his arm, as if unsure he wanted to actually ask anything of her. “I know you’re upset at me right now, but…can I hold you while I tell you the truth?”

She was silent as she thought over his request. He had been right -she _was_ angry at him and rightly so. Thanks to the oath she had made, she had spoken nothing but the truth to him since their first night together. Who knows how many lies he had told her in that time?

But…right now, it was obvious that he was ready to be honest. There was hesitation in his eyes and when he spoke, she could hear the restraint in his voice. His biggest tell, though, was his refusal to meet her eyes -he _felt_ guilty for lying.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But, ya got t’ promise me one thing first.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll stop lying to _me_. Marriages are meant to be built on love an’ trust. Aye, ours isn’t a…a _typical_ marriage, but—” Her cheeks darkened and she glanced away. “I’ll admit that I have grown t’ think o’ ya more as a friend than an enemy at this point.”

A small smile came to his lips. “Really?”

She sighed, though there was a bit of smile on her lips as well. “Aye.” Using her tail to pull her hair over her shoulder, she pushed herself up and onto her bed. “Well, do ya promise?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I promise I’ll stop lying to you.”

“Then get up here an’ hold me so I can finally hear the truth ‘bout Oswald.”

Chuckling, Dagur crawled over and climbed onto the bed as well. “Thank you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

“Like I said earlier, I don’t love ya _yet_ , but…I do enjoy your touch.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled into him. “You’re _almost_ as good at snugglin’ as Ruff an’ Tuff.”

At that, his brow rose. “You let other people snuggle you?”

She shrugged. “The twins have always been snugglers,” she explained. “They like makin’ what they call a ‘Thorston Sandwich’ -them on the outside, you on the inside. It’s actually quite cozy, especially if you’re not havin’ the best o’ days.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Closing her eyes, she wrapped her tail around him a few times before letting the end of it drape over his neck. “They’re good at helpin’ relieve my frustration that builds up some days.”

“May have to have a talk with them, then…” he murmured. “Could learn a thing or two.” Sighing, he glanced up at the ceiling; he hadn’t noticed before, but it was covered in moss. “So…about my family.”

“Aye. About them.”

Dagur was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to figure out how to best say them aloud. “I’ll just start at the beginning, I guess. When Oswald was still Oswald the Antagonistic, he married my mother for political reasons and had me. Then, when I was about two, he went out to raid some of the Pict and Celt villages along the shores of Britannia. A year and a half later, he returned…with a Pict woman for a slave. I don’t remember her name; I was too young.

“Oswald was clearly in love with this woman which _really_ upset my mother and our village elder at the time. The woman, though, didn’t love him in return. No matter what he did.” Sighing, he reached up and brushed a bit of Thora’s tail tuft from his cheek. “But, he got the bright idea to start acting less antagonistic and more…well, agreeable.” Thora felt him shrug. “And I guess it worked enough that she was willing to lay with him a couple times.

“And, well…you’ve heard stories of the fertility of Picts, I’m sure.”

She nodded. “Aye. Their women are often pregnant. But with that comes high death rates for the mothers an’ the newborns.”

“It’s because they’ve got slender hips,” he told her. “Makes it hard for the baby to pass through safely. And that’s why…that’s why the slave woman died giving birth to my sister. My _half-_ sister.” He felt Thora’s arm move and then her fingers slipped between his neck and the pillow before playing with his hair. “When I told you that she adored me, that was no lie. She really did adore me and I adored her.

“But my mother _hated_ her. She looked just like the Pict woman and Oswald cared more for her wellbeing than mine. He continued to be Oswald the Agreeable, wanting to set a better example for my sister than he had set for me. He wanted to change our entire way of life for her. He was willing to give up everything for her. All because she looked so much like her mother.” He let out a heavy sigh and somewhat shook his head.

“I take it your mother was none-too-happy ‘bout this whole thing?”

Tilting his head back, he kissed her chin. “Not at all. The village, though, was willing to go along with it. I’m not sure why. Probably because they thought Oswald would potentially kill them if they didn’t follow his lead? I don’t know. But the Berserkers soon became a peaceful tribe, no matter how hard my mother fought against Oswald’s new declarations.

“But she came up with a plan -one that would take advantage of how innocent a kid could be. She told me of how, when I was a babe and she went to do the washing, she’d bring a shield with her. While she washed clothes in the stream, she would put me on the shield and push me around in the shallows. She told me how much fun I would have and how I squealed with delight as I ‘sailed’ around.

“Of course, since I was only six at the time, I believed her. And of course, I thought my little sister would have the same amount of fun.” He fell silent once more.

Opening her eyes, Thora looked down only to find him staring at her -no, _through_ her. His face was filled with guilt. She gently stroked the back of his head, waiting for him to speak on his own.

“My mother never took me out on a shield like that,” he finally murmured. “And when I took my sister out, I learned why. The river where she would do her washing had a strong current. Before I knew it, I was racing to try and catch the shield as the river took my sister out to sea. By the time I got back to the village, it was too late. Even after three days of searching, there was no sign of her or the shield.”

She pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Innocent children should never be subjected t’ the cruelty o’ adults…”

He sighed. “I know. Then, to make matters worse, my mother divorced Oswald and ran off with another man.”

“Did ya tell him that it was your mum who made ya do it?”

“I did, but it was too late. She had already run off.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe that’s part of the reason Oswald never liked me. Maybe, despite me telling the truth, he always believed that it was entirely my fault my sister was claimed by the sea. Then again, I always got the blame for things. But, he didn’t love me like he loved my sister.”

Another sarcastic laugh, though this one also bore anger. “Hel’s Halls, he _hated_ me! I know he did! I was just the scathing reminder of how the woman he abhorred got to live while the woman and child he loved died. Ironic, isn’t he? He tried so hard to change for her only for it to be a completely useless endeavor anyway.”

When he started to cackle, Thora somewhat pulled back. She frowned as she looked down at him. Despite his laughter, there were tears rolling down his cheeks. “Dagur…” She cupped his damp cheek, feeling him press his face into it.

“You know what that asshole did next?” he choked out; his voice was a mixture of a sob and a laugh. “You know what he did? He left. He left Berserk. Didn’t leave a note. Didn’t tell me anything. He just _left_. I was fifteen and he left, expecting me to take over as chief. Do you think I knew how to be chief? Gods above, no! I was only _fifteen_. I had only just started weapons training two years prior! And then he leaves? Ha!”

He was shaking with emotion by now. As he spoke, Thora could hear the years of hatred and frustration that had festered in his mind spilling out for the very first time. Pity rose in her heart and she pulled him flush against her body; he clung onto her in response.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he sobbed. “I didn’t know! How was I supposed to tell everyone that Oswald just up and left his village, his island, his _son_? How was I supposed to tell them that I had no idea where he went or why?”

“So ya told them all that ya had killed him,” she murmured, gently rubbing his back. “It’d be a more believable story an’ it’d give ya an advantage over those who’d want t’ contest your rights as heir.”

He nodded against her, failing to hold back sobs and sniffs. “I hate him, Thora. I hate him so much! Why couldn’t he love me like he loved my sister? I was his _son_!” His hands were balled into fists, but he was able to keep himself from hitting anything. He was so angry…he wanted to hurt something or some _one_.

But he wouldn’t.

Instead, he yelled. He shouted into Thora’s chest, voice muffled by her body. He shouted out his hatred for Oswald and his hatred for his mother. He shouted out his hatred at himself for sending his sister to such a fate.

Soon, his voice grew hoarse and it hurt to breathe, let alone yell. Thora stroked his hair, her eyes shut as she cradled him.

‘I never would have thought he’d have so many emotions bottled up,’ she thought. ‘Whenever he and Oswald came to Berk, they always seemed fairly close…? Then again, it did seem like Oswald was oddly cold towards him at times.’ Opening her eyes, she looked down at him; he had grown silent

“Dagur?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he croaked, once more staring through her. “Please. Even if things go horribly wrong between us, promise me this will be the one thing you never tell anyone.”

She kissed the top of his head. “I promise.”


	32. 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Sorry this chapter took a bit...and sorry if it seems to decline in quality part-way through. The last couple of weeks have been just...total crap and I've been on the verge of having a mental breakdown the last week. Part of the reason is Trump/Pence, the rest is the fact my dad lost his job this week x_x So, uh...yeah. That's affected my writing a bit, but I'm trying my hardest to push past it.
> 
> With that said, there is a sexual scene fairly early on, but it doesn't last too long. I'll help those out who want to skip over it: It starts at 'Two can play at this game,' and abruptly ends at 'Thora glanced up at him'. There is also some mildly graphic depictions of menstruation utilities and menstruation in general.

When Dagur woke up the next morning, it was to a painfully dry throat and a sore body. At first, he thought that he was coming down with some sort of illness. As his memory of the previous night started to unearth itself, however, he realized the true cause of his pain.

Sighing heavily, he opened his eyes only to find himself alone in Thora’s large bed. Sometime during the night, she had removed his breastplate and his boots only to cover him up with blankets. The sound of rain drumming against the roof filled his ears, though it did little to comfort him. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

‘What does she think of me now?’ he thought. ‘Now that she knows what Oswald did…what _I_ did. Does she think I’m a monster now?’ Letting his hand rest on the back of his neck, he looked up at the ceiling; he wasn’t surprised when he found it covered in moss. ‘But…it kind of felt nice to finally tell someone. Like a weight coming off my shoulders.’

“I was wonderin’ when you were goin’ t’ wake up.”

He blinked, startled by Thora’s voice. He looked over, watching as she climbed the last two steps into the loft. With the aid of her tail, she carried a tray of food and drink. “Wh-what time is it?” he questioned, wincing at the pain in his throat.

“Not too late,” she replied, setting the tray down beside his knees. Sitting beside him, she plucked up a metal mug and handed it to him. “Maybe eight? Nine? Drink this. It’ll help your throat.”

Nodding, he took the tankard, finding it warm to the touch. He took a small sip. A quiet laugh left Thora’s mouth when she watched his brows furrow in confusion.

“Were ya expectin’ something disgustin’?”

“Medicine normally tastes that way,” he croaked. “Why doesn’t this?” He took a larger drink this time, sighing as the pain in his throat began to fade.

“Because it’s not medicine. It’s just lavender tea with some cream an’ honey.” Crossing her legs, she pulled the tray closer to them. As she did so, Dagur saw that there were two bowls of porridge as well as two plates of bacon and eggs. “How do ya feel?”

He shrugged, taking one of the bowls as it was handed to him. “To be honest? I feel like I got my ass handed to me. But…I feel good about it?” He rolled his eyes before spooning some porridge into mouth. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes complete sense.” Setting one of the plates on his lap, she flicked her hair over her shoulder. “What ya told me last night—it was really emotional for ya, especially since ya had been bearin’ its weight for so many years. Now that you’ve finally shared it, at least _some_ o’ that weight must be gone, aye?”

He nodded and, again, ran a hand through his hair before staring down into his porridge. “I just…I just wanted to be honest with you,” he told her quietly. “And I’m going to start being more honest. It’s not fair that-” He was silenced as Thora gently turned his head and kissed him.

“Thank you for trustin’ me enough t’ tell me such a thing,” she murmured, gently brushing her knuckles against his cheek. “I know it was really hard for ya, especially when ya could have just given me a simpler version o’ the story.”

He stole a second kiss from her. “You needed to know the truth. You needed to know why I hate Oswald so much and why I refuse to call him ‘father’.” He sighed, resting his head against her shoulder.

Wrapping her tail around his shoulder, she rested her head atop his. They fell silent as they ate, though it was a sort of relieved silence. Thora kept her tail around his shoulders, once in a while giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“So…After I finish eatin’, I’m goin’ t’ be takin’ a bath,” Thora spoke after some time. “Care t’ join me?”

A small, cheeky grin came to his lips. “Sure,” he replied. “Do you have an actual tub here or another indoor waterfall?”

She chuckled. “A tub. Though, there is some magic t’ it that makes it a wee bit special.” As Dagur tried to steal one of her eggs, she smacked his spoon with her own spoon. “By the way, do ya know if the salve ya gave me works well in water?”

“No idea, to be honest. I’ve never heard of it being used in that fashion.” He shrugged. “How long did it take for it to wear off last night? Do you want me to apply more?”

“It lasted quite a while. An’ maybe after we bathe. I already put some on this mornin’ with help from my tail, but I think the combination o’ the salve an’ the massage is what worked so well.”

He nodded in understanding. “Still feeling the cramps, then?”

“Aye, though they’re bearable now. When I woke up, they were _horrible_ …but I didn’t want t’ wake ya.” She took a bite of some bacon only to become distracted when she realized there was a hair in her mouth.

Seizing the opportunity, Dagur grinned and scooped her last egg into his porridge. “Why not? I would have happily helped you out.”

“Because it was before dawn an’ I knew ya needed the rest,” she explained. Finally finding the hair, she pulled it from her mouth and wiped it away on her skirt. She then went back to eating only to find her plate now empty. “You lil’ bugger…”

Dagur smiled innocently, his mouth full of porridge and egg. Leaning over, he kissed her cheek, still smiling as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re a tiny bit cute,” she told him, voice full of sarcasm.

Swallowing the mouthful of food, he rested his head against her shoulder, trying to look as innocent as possible. “You know you almost-love me.”

Her reply came in the form of her tail pushing him sideways as she slipped off the bed. “I’ll let ya know when the bath’s ready,” she told him, walking towards the stairs.

Once she was downstairs, she placed her dirtied dishes in the washbasin. Then, going over to her wall of medicinal concoctions, she searched the shelves for a mixture that would not only calm minds, but bodies -but she didn’t want lavender. She was tired of its floral scent; she wanted something spicy. Something earthy. Without giving it a second thought, she snatched a jar she had labeled ‘Mind Easer.’

She hadn’t yet called Dagur when he came downstairs, bearing dirtied dishes and an empty tea cup. He excused himself for a moment, slipping into the privy. When he stepped out, he found the ground near the hearth caved in and filling with water. The water came from a trench that had formed in the floor; where its source was, he had no idea.

“What the…?” he mumbled.

“My bathing tub,” Thora explained. She was kneeling on the floor beside the hollow spot, her tail holding a jar as she stirred the water around. “I like bathing near the fire so I don’t have t’ worry ‘bout gettin’ cold or runnin’ out o’ tea.” There was a bit of a mischievous grin on her lips as she started to pour the contents of the jar into the water.

Within seconds, Dagur’s nose was filled with a familiar scent. His brow rose as he watched her continue to stir the water. “Mind telling me how you came across my bathing oil?” he questioned, wearing an amused grin.

She blinked, looking between him and the jar before realization hit her. “Oh gods…” she murmured, smacking her forehead. “I didn’t even realize what I had grabbed. I just wanted somethin’ calmin’ that _wasn’t_ lavender.”

He chuckled, going over to her and kissing her temple. “Never knew you enjoyed the smell so much,” he teased. “If I had known, I would have given you some of the oil before you left for the mainland all those years ago.”

A quiet sigh left her mouth as he crouched down and wrapped his arms around her waist before burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Back then, I didn’t want t’ admit how nice ya smelled,” she admitted. “An’ this oil isn’t the one ya use; it’s my own blend. It doesn’t _quite_ smell like ya, but it’s close enough.”

“Most people think it’s too heavy a scent. I’m surprised you’re fond of it.”

“It’s…it’s earthy an’ warm.” She slipped from his embrace, going to put the jar back in its place. “When I first smelled it, I was Alvin’s prisoner an’ I thought I was goin’ t’ die. But then—then ya saved me. Ever since then, it’s been the scent o’ safety an’ comfort for me.” Sighing, she ran her fingers across a different jar, this one labeled ‘Lost Love’. “I’ve tried blendin’ it with—with a different scent I love, but I haven’t been able t’ get the mixture just right.”

He watched her as she turned around and leaned against the wall, her fingers stroking her necklaces. “I take it that other scent would be Cæna’s?” he quietly asked.

She nodded. “The two scents are so different: You’re cloves an’ nutmeg an’ pepper -warm an’ spicy. He’s…he’s smoke an’ sea breeze an’ pine trees -cool an’ earthy. It’s…it’s hard t’ blend the two without one overpowerin’ the other.”

Dagur walked over to her, gently setting a hand on her waist. Standing on his tiptoes, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “There are going to be days when you’d rather smell him than me,” he quietly told her. “Don’t worry about mixing the two smells together, alright? Keep us separate. For your heart’s sake.”

“That…is probably one o’ the more sensible things you’ve ever said to me,” she told him, a bit of soft laughter to her voice.

He teasingly pouted before turning around and crossing his arms. “I’ve said _plenty_ of sensible things to you,” he scoffed. He jumped, his eyes widening in surprise as Thora lightly smacked his hindquarters while walking past him.

“Keep thinkin’ that, Dagur the _Deranged_ ,” she teased. Then, her expression softened and her tone became slightly more serious. “But…honestly? Thank you. I…I thought that maybe by blending his scent in with yours would help me grow more fond o’ ya, but---but you’re right. I should keep the two o’ ya separate, since you’re different people.”

“Well…I mean, we do have _one_ thing in common.”

She started to pull off her shirt. “Hmm?”

It was Dagur’s turn to startle her as he appeared in front of her, having moved when her face was covered. Not wanting to stretch, he kissed her chin. “We both fell for you.” A cheeky grin spread across his lips as he turned his back to her and started to unlace his trousers.

Thora playfully smacked the back of his head with her tail, undoing the laces to her skirt. “Aye, further provin’ that the two o’ ya have weird tastes in females.” Biting her tongue, she found herself glad that Dagur’s back was to her; her under-trousers were a bit of a mess thanks to her blood week, though it was mostly contained to the cloth-and-moss padding she had sewn to the crotch of the garment. Before Dagur could see, she quickly tossed it into a small cauldron of steaming water.

She then stepped into the tub, her back facing the door. A long, relieved sigh left her mouth as she sank down into the water, its warmth sending shivers along her entire body. She tilted her head back, the water glowing blue for a few seconds as she felt the earth curve to the shape of her head.

“Been awhile since I’ve had a warm bath.” Dagur slipped in across from her, resting his elbows on the edges of the tub. “I almost forgot how nice they arm.”

“I’m never goin’ back t’ cold baths,” Thora murmured, her eyes shut. “Well…unless it’s summer.”

He chuckled, his brow rising. “Don’t fall asleep now. Can’t have you drowning on me.”

She smiled, though kept her eyes shut. “I doubt you’d let me drown.” She heard the water quietly slosh and splash as Dagur moved. Cracking open an eye, she looked up at him only to find him wetting a washcloth. “What’re ya doin’?”

“May as well get the washing done so we can hurry up and get to the relaxing,” he replied. He rubbed the bar of soap against the cloth, getting it nice and lathered up. Slipping his hand under her calf, he raised her leg out of the water and began to scrub it.

“I can bathe myself,” she chuckled, both eyes opened and one brow raised.

“I know, but where’s the fun in that?” He winked down at her, grinning as her cheeks darkened greatly. “Still blushing, even when we’ve lain together a number of times?” he quietly teased. “And here I thought you’d be used to this by now?”

Biting her tongue, she glanced away. “Very funny,” she murmured. “Sorry t’ ruin your ‘fun’, but we can’t do anythin’, remember? Blood week?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun worshipping you like the goddess you are.” Leaning over, he kissed deeply; at the same time, he gently lowered her leg back into the water before beginning to clean the other one. “Æsir and Vanir know you could use some doting after spending all week tending to others…” He slowly began to kiss his way along her jaw. “And while on your blood week? You need _extra_ attention.”

Thora’s eyes fell shut once more and she let out a quiet sigh, her head tilting back. “As a witch, it’s my job t’ take care o’ other people,” she murmured.

“True as that may be,” he returned her other leg to the water, “you still need to take care of yourself as well.” He nipped her lower lip as he slipped the washcloth between her legs, earning a soft gasp from Thora as he gently washed her.

With a quiet whimper, she reached up and pulled Dagur closer to her. Her tongue slipped past his grinning lips and slid against his tongue, tasting his mouth. A soft moan was muffled by the kiss; Dagur had slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her upper half out of the water.

He pulled back from the kiss, smirking. “Don’t know what you’ve got running through your mind. I’m just trying to wash you.” Grabbing the bar of soap, he lathered the washcloth up a second time.

“You’re teasin’ the life out o’ me, that’s what you’re doin’,” she breathed, her skin hot against the skin of his jaw. “An’ I _know_ you’re doin’ it on purpose.”

His smirk remained, saying nothing as he started to scrub her back. A soft sigh left his mouth and his head tilted to the side; Thora had started kissing along his neck.

“Two can play at this game,” she murmured before nipping his earlobe. Once more kissing along his neck, she slowly dragged her fingers down the back of his neck and along his spine. He shuddered under her touch, another sigh leaving his mouth. As Dagur rubbed her back with the soapy cloth, she kissed and suckled at his collarbone, daring to nibble his skin once in a while.

There was a splash as Dagur dropped the cloth into the water. Grabbing a handful of Thora’s hair, he drew a loud moan from her mouth as he pulled her head back. He kissed her hard, still holding onto her hair. His free arm snaked its way around her hips before pulling her flush to his body.

Leaning back, Thora grinned mischievously at him. “I don’t think so,” she purred.

Before he could question what she meant, Thora stood, flipping them around so that Dagur stood with his back to the door. Kissing his neck once more, Thora pushed him down to sit on the edge of the tub. Her tail curled around his torso and between his legs, running against his hardened length.

“I thought you said we couldn’t—” He faltered, a moan escaping his throat.

“We’re not,” she murmured, her voice filled with mischief. As she kissed down his chest, she lowered herself to her knees.

Realizing what she intended to do, Dagur grinned and spread his legs for her. He leaned back, resting his weight on one hand while the other ran through Thora’s hair.

“Now you’re the one spoiling _me_ ,” he murmured. He gently pulled her hair back over her shoulders, getting it out of her way.

“I think after last night, ya deserve a wee bit o’ coddlin’,” she replied, voice still playful. She glanced up at his face, watching his eyes close in bliss as she swirled her tongue along the tip of his length.

He moaned loudly as she took him fully into her mouth, beginning to slowly bob her head. She was careful to not poke the tender flesh with her tusks or to scrape her teeth against it. Thanks to a mixture of her caution and his own excitement, the feeling in Dagur’s loins was amazing. Her mouth was just as warm as her core, but her tongue and her lips toyed with him in ways her core never could. Biting his lip, he grinned as he watched her, though he did his best to stay calm.

He wanted to enjoy this. He wanted _her_ to enjoy this. If he got too excited—well, the fun would cease all too soon for his liking.

Thora glanced up at him as she slowly lifted her head. She stopped when her lips were just barely wrapped around his tip. Another loud moan left Dagur’s throat as she suckled him, her tongue flicking against the extra-sensitive skin. She felt his grip on her hair tighten and she sighed with pleasure.

“You’re such a tease,” he mumbled, eyes closing once again as he felt her tail wrap around the base of his erection as well as his undercarriage. It gently squeezed him in a pulse-like fashion while she caressed the rest of him with long licks and soft kisses. He sat up straight now, both hands running through her hair.

She spoke softly against his glans, her voice sending vibrations through him. “You’re enjoyin’ it.”

“Hel yeah I am…” He grunted, restraining himself from thrusting as he was once more taken fully into her mouth. Swallowing hard, Dagur bit his lip; his stomach was beginning to tighten. He stroked the back of her neck and breathed slowly through his nose in an attempt to calm himself.

Thora glanced up at him, the corners of her mouth barely turned upwards in a smirk. Distracted as she was, she didn’t hear the wings of an approaching dragon nor did she hear the grumbling of the dragon’s riders. So, when the door slammed open, she lost concentration and gagged before pulling back from Dagur.

Dagur spun around, instinctively throwing his arms out to protect Thora from potential harm. He let out a curse as a blur of color slammed into him, knocking him backwards. Thora yelped, just barely having time to jump back as Dagur and his assailant fell.

Her eyes wide with fright, Thora looked at the doorway only to find Tuffnut leaning against the doorframe. His skin was pale he looked ready to collapse at any second; he had his hand around his waist and, beneath it, there was a large bloodstain. In front of her, Ruffnut was wrestling (and winning) with Dagur, attempting to drown him in the water.

“You think you can attack our home when we’re not here!?” shouted Ruffnut. “You think you can just come here and try to take advantage of our Thora, huh!? HUH?!”

As she was currently holding Dagur underwater, his only response was a flurry of wrathful bubbles rising to the surface.

“Well, how ‘bout I give you a taste of your own—” She cursed as she was suddenly yanked off Dagur, though she continued to flail her limbs in hopes of bruising and beating him.

Thora carried her away from the tub, trying to get her as far away from Dagur as possible. “He’s not here attackin’ or takin’ advantage o’ me!” She set Ruffnut down on a bench, wincing a bit; now that she was no longer distracted, her pelvic muscles were beginning to remind her of their existence. Poking Ruffnut in the center of her chest, she gave her a warning look. “Stay.”

Despite wanting to disobey her friend, Ruffnut stayed put. She watched as Thora went over to Tuffnut and carefully helped him to a separate bench; this one was covered with a soft, wool blanket. As she helped Tuffnut out of his various layers of clothing, her tail stretched out and patted Dagur on the back as he went through a painful coughing fit.

Carefully peeling off the makeshift bandage covering the wound, Thora let out a horrified gasp. Along the left side of his stomach was a set of three, deep gashes. They were uneven, letting her know that whatever cut him had been serrated.

“What in Odin’s name…?” she gaped.

“Wild Nadder,” he groaned.

“That’s why we’re back early,” Ruffnut explained. Her voice betrayed her irritation. “He sneezed wrong and startled it. We tried our best to stunt the flow with those leaves and some moss, but…” She sighed, grabbing the ends of her pigtails and pulling on them. “We came back here right away, of course, but we thought you’d still be in bed -not sucking our enemy’s—”

“Scold me later. This is more important.” Thora interrupted. Pulling open a drawer in the wall, she pulled out a few sachets, smelled them, and then tossed one back in the drawer. The other two she set near Tuffnut before disappearing into her larder.

Sitting down with a pout, Ruffnut rested her elbows on her knees. She continued to stay put as Thora had ordered, watching as the witch tended to her brother’s wounds. When Dagur tried to get out of the water in order to get her something to cover herself with, he promptly sat back down as Thora pointed her tail at him, also commanding him to stay.

The longer Thora took with healing her brother, the more worried Ruffnut started to grow. She wasn’t sure how quickly time was passing; an eternity felt like it had passed since they had arrived. It certainly didn’t seem to be passing fast enough for her; she wanted to know if her brother was going to live, let alone if he was going to end up crippled or something. Unconsciously, she started to nibble on her thumbnail. She knew Thora would do her best to keep Tuffnut alive, but…

She had chewed off nine of her fingernails by the time Thora let out a groan and shuffled over to her chair. Ruffnut perked, her eyes widening, as she saw Tuffnut slowly sit up. He was surrounded by bloodied clothes and empty sachets, but color had returned to his skin and he was very much alive.

“Ya can move, Ruff,” Thora sighed, plopping down in her chair. Clenching her eyes shut, she wrapped her arm around her abdomen and pulled her legs up to her chest. “Don’t hug him too hard,” she warned, hearing Ruffnut bolt from her spot. “He’s goin’ t’ need at least a week t’ recover.”

Ruffnut, her arms spread in anticipation for a tight bear hug, bit her lower lip and instead leaned over and gently hugged Tuffnut around the shoulders.

“Told you I’d make it,” Tuffnut grinned, his voice betraying his exhaustion. “That’s five coppers you owe me. And a foot rub!” He patted his twin on the back with a chuckle.

At that, she playfully pouted. “Damn. I was lookin’ forward to having my own house.”

“Can I move?”

The twins’ eyes narrowed and they both glared at Dagur. He still sat in the tub, shivering somewhat now that the water had grown cold.

“Yeah, but only if it’s to _drown yourself_ ,” Ruffnut snarled. Her hand instinctively started to reach for the pair of scissors laying just a few inches away.

“Why are you even here?” Tuffnut demanded. “ _How_ are you even here?!”

Dagur glared at them, wishing he wasn’t as exposed and helpless as he was. “I’m here because I read the letter my _wife_ sent me and got worried,” he stated through clenched teeth. “You mentioned she was bedridden -and she was until _I_ came along.”

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. “Oh I highly doubt that! Shoving your cock down her throat isn’t exactly a cure for extreme pain-”

“Dagur, get the salve,” Thora suddenly whimpered.

The three of them looked over at her, finding her rocking herself in her chair. As she looked at Dagur, they could see the helplessness and pain in her eyes; in an instant, Dagur was jumping out of the tub and racing up the stairs. It was while he was gone that the twins noticed the small puddle of blood on the floor under the table and the trail leading to where Thora now sat.

Ruffnut cringed; she knew what sort of pain her friend was in. Leaving her brother’s side, she went into the larder and grabbed a couple of rags. As she stepped out, she found Dagur hurrying down the stairs -a blanket now wrapped around his waist and a jar in his hand. Dropping the rags on the floor, she pushed them around with her foot to soak up all the blood before also heading up the stairs.

She rummaged through one of Thora’s clothing chests, finding a pair of shorts. Downstairs, she could just barely make out Tuffnut saying something only for Dagur to reply to him. She didn’t know what was said, but knew it had been curt. Searching through a second chest, she finally came across one of Thora’s older, more comfortable dresses.

With both garments in hand, she went back downstairs. The air was filled with a variety of smells that she only just noticed -most of them medicinal and making her want to sneeze. Resisting the urge, she brought the clothes over to Thora. Dagur was rubbing something into her back, making her groan; whether it was in pain or in relief, she couldn’t tell.

As she handed the clothes to her friend, Thora grasped her hand. “Don’t tell the others,” she quietly begged. “Please.”

She glanced between Thora and Dagur before crouching down to look Thora in the eye. “Thora, he’s our biggest enemy. Now, I may be a fan of chaos and destruction,” she started to help her dress, slipping the shorts on over her feet, “but even _I_ know it’s not good that he’s here. Now that he knows where our base is, he can attack whenever he wants!”

“But I _won’t_ because I _don’t_ know where I am,” Dagur retorted, his voice colder than ice. “I fell asleep on Death Dance while she flew here.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that?” Tuffnut snorted. He then winced, placing his hand over his injury. “That’s about as believable as Ruffnut saying a yak-crap parfait is delicious.”

“Yes, you _are_ supposed to believe it, because it’s the _truth_!” Dagur snarled. He looked down at Thora, feeling her flinch and he realized he had pressed too hard against her back. “I’m sorry!” he quickly said, eyes widening in horror. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to press so hard!”

“It’s fine,” Thora groaned. The salve was beginning to take effect, but she knew it would be awhile before the pain was fully dulled. With some help from Ruffnut, she stood up and pulled the shorts on the rest of the way. “Dagur’s tellin’ the truth. He doesn’t know where our base is at - _an’_ he won’t know when Death Dance takes him back t’ Honeymoon Island. I’ll make sure he’s blindfolded.” She let out a sigh, moving to sit back down, but Dagur stopped her.

“Let me get a rag,” he mumbled, heading for the larder.

She ran her hand over her hair, sighing a second time. “So much blood today…” Shaking her head, she finally pulled the dress over her head.

Picking up the soiled rags, Ruffnut dumped them into the cauldron of still-steaming water. “You and Tuff look like you lost about the same amount,” she stated. She then crossed her arms and looked up at Thora. “You know we’re going to tell Hiccup.”

“Ruff…Please.” Thora gave her a pleading look. “I’ll do anythin’ if it means the two o’ ya don’t tell Hiccup—Or _any_ o’ the riders, for that matter.” Sighing, she looked away from Ruffnut, guilt quickly taking over her pleading look. “He was just worried ‘bout me.”

“He _told_ you he was worried,” Ruffnut hissed, trying her best to keep herself from raising her voice. “How do you know he was telling the truth when he said he fell asleep? How do you know he didn’t memorize the way here?”

Thora glanced at her from the corner of her eye, frowning. “The same way I can tell if you an’ Tuff are bein’ honest: I can read ya.”

At that, Ruffnut frowned. “You can _read_ us?” she questioned. “How?”

“If I told ya, then you’d find ways t’ change your tells,” she replied. “But aye, I _read_ ya -just like I can read Dagur.” She glanced over her shoulder as Dagur came out of the larder.

“You’re almost out,” he said, giving the rag a small jiggle before cleaning up her seat. “You’ve got three clean ones left after this.”

She nodded in understanding. “Thank ya.”

Ruffnut didn’t like the smile Dagur gave Thora -not because it was fake, but because it was genuine. Her lip twitching upwards in a snarl, she managed to hold her tongue. Turning, she snatched up a long, metal spoon from the wall and went to stir the cauldron of soiled rags.

Tuffnut watched his sister, frowning. He had never seen her this angry before -at least, not with Thora of all people. But he understood her anger. It wasn’t just about Dagur being their enemy: It was also about how he had tried to kill their beloved Barf and Belch, and how their best friend had been forced to give in to Dagur’s obsessive crush on her in order to save Hiccup and herself.

But he didn’t have nearly the same amount of energy as his sister; not at the moment, anyway. So, instead of copying Ruffnut’s behavior -which he normally did- he countered it. After all, their mother had always urged them to try and fight people with kindness rather than fists. Now was as good a time as any to follow her advice!

“So, uh… _Dagur_ ,” he started, sounding rather awkward. “Even though you’re kind of an asshole, I gotta give you props for huntin’ down those huge elk. Venison’s been a nice of pace from all the cured fish and yak we’ve been eating.”

His brow rising, Dagur looked over at Tuffnut, confused. “Ah…you’re welcome?” he replied, confused. He looked at Thora. “You share the elk with them?”

She nodded. “O’ course. I’m not goin’ t’ let their tongues burn away from all that salted meat they’ve got preserved.”

He said nothing, but nodded in acquiescent.

Tuffnut halfheartedly smiled. “Yeah, they’ve been delicious. And it gives me something to play around with when I want to do a cooking experiment.”

Dagur’s brow remained cocked. “You cook?”

“I know I don’t look it, but I’m one of _the_ best chefs on Berk,” he chirped. He tried to sit up straight and puff out his chest, but the bandages around his torso prevented him from doing such. “I can make something tasty from almost anything.”

At that, Dagur snorted. “Yeah, like I’ll believe _that._ ” Crossing his arms, over his chest, he somewhat cocked his hip as he stared Tuffnut down. “There’s no way you can make that good of food. You’re a man! We men don’t cook _that_ well.” He let out a strangled yelp and leaned back as Ruffnut suddenly jumped into his line of sight.

Jabbing him in the chest with the now-hot, metal spoon, she glared at him. “Hey! My brother is an _awesome_ cook!” she snapped, poking him every other word.

Tuffnut sighed, somewhat embarrassed by his sister’s actions. He glanced at Thora only to frown; she didn’t look right. “Uh, Ruff? Dagur?”

“And he’ll prove it to you by making you a fuckin’ _delicious_ dinner tonight,” Ruffnut continued, not hearing her brother. “Isn’t that right, Tuff?”

“Uh, yeah, but guys-”

“See?” She threatening held the spoon a mere hairsbreadth away from Dagur’s face, enjoying the mild look of fear in his eyes. “So don’t you go being a judgey-judgey trousers until you taste the proof, mister!”

“GUYS!”

Ruffnut looked over her shoulder. “What?! Can’t you see I’m threatening him on your behalf?”

Tuffnut pointed at Thora.

Dagur and Ruffnut looked down only to swear in unison. Thora was swaying in her seat, her eyes unfocused. Ruffnut darted forward as she started to tip forward, catching her before she could hit the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

_Wearing an icy blue gown and a snow-white cloak, she looked out of place as she walked down the dark streets. This land was unfamiliar to her, yet she walked with confidence towards her destination: A military compound in the center of town._

_She passed by statues of unfamiliar gods that stood taller than most trees in her homeland and strange pools of water that had water flowing forth from statues in their middles. The streets, paved with stone, were adorned with plants of all kinds and the walls of the buildings were painted with bright, lively colors._

_But time was not on her side, so she did not allow herself to pause and admire her surroundings. It was the early hours of morning and the sun would soon rise. She couldn’t risk waiting another day to pass in order to fulfill her task, so she pressed forward._

_As she approached the gate barring her way into the compound, she found it guarded by a large, grey-brow dragon and a set of four men. The dragon was curled up in front of the pair of doors, its breathing slowed as if it were asleep. Drawing nearer to it, however, she found that its eyes were open ever so slightly as it kept watch. The men, however, talked in quiet, casual voices with one another._

_The dragon suddenly lifted its head, sniffing the air. The men, seeing the dragon stir, ceased their chatting and grabbed their spears, adopting defensive stances. She watched as they all looked around, worry on their faces as the dragon continued to smell the air._

_A hint of a smirk came to her lips. Kneeling close to the earth, she pressed her hand against the ground and concentrated. She silently called out to long-forgotten magic buried deep below the surface. Through tiny cracks and tunnels, it wormed its way upwards in answer her summons. When it had come close enough for use, she stood and threw her hands skyward._

_In an instant, the walls and its guards were covered in a thin, sparkling sheet of ice._

_The figures before her stood completely still, frozen into human and dragon statues. She walked past them, tapping the metal collar around the dragon’s neck; it shattered into millions of pieces._

_“When my spell melts, you will be free,” she whispered, letting her palm rest atop its head for a moment._

_Unable to dally any longer, she threw open the doors of the compound. Everything inside its walls was just as frozen as the outside: Men frozen in mid-step, steam rising from once-roaring fires, and everything deathly quiet._

_She made her way through the compound, cursing under her breath when she found that she had gone the wrong way. Eventually, though, she found a staircase that led beneath the earth -to where she needed to go._

_As she descended the stairs, the world grew pitch black. There was no moon or starlight down here to light her way. The air also grew fouler; the smells of urine, unwashed bodies, and diseased fleshed hung heavy it. Covering her mouth and nose with a sleeve, she called out to the magic once more._

_A line of flames sprung to life before her, filling a long, lonely passageway with dim light. Following the light, she kept her lower face covered as she passed cell after cell. Some smelled worse than others and she pitied some of those who were kept inside. Anger was beginning to rise in her heart, but she paused and closed her eyes._

_“I cannot allow myself to stray from my task,” she whispered into the night. “When I am done, I will see to it that justice is brought to you poor souls.”_

_She began to walk once more. The more cells she passed, the more disheartened she grew; none of them contained the person she was looking for. But then, at the very end of the hall, she found victory._

_He was hard to see in the dim light, but as she stepped closer to the metal bars, she was able to see a man sitting on the ground. He was too skinny for his size and his face was hidden beneath a mixture of long, ratted hair and a long, unkempt beard—only his eyes could be seen clearly. His clothes were in tatters; how they still held together, she didn’t know. Unlike everyone else she had seen, he was not frozen -nor was his cell. She silently thanked the magic for listening to her._

_Grabbing one of the iron bars, she pulled the door free with inhuman strength. The man looked up, startled. He tried to move away as she stepped into the cell, but the shackles pinning his wrists above his head prevented him from going far._

_“Wh-who are you?” he stammered, speaking in a tongue she hadn’t heard in decades. His voice was dry and raspy; she knew he hadn’t drank anything in days._

_“You know well who I am,” she replied, kneeling before him. She, however, spoke in her native Norse._

_For a long moment, the man was silent. He stared at her and she could see the whirlwind of emotions passing through his eyes._

_“Why have you come?” he finally spoke, using the Nordic language. “Have you come to answer my prayers? To end this misery and let me die?”_

_“I have come on behalf of those who love.” She trailed her fingers along the chains on the floor until she touched the shackles around his wrists. “I owe them a debt and my debt to them is your life.” Frost began to cover the metal until, with just a touch of her finger tip, the metal shattered. A somewhat amused smile played on her lips as the man stared at her, confused._

_“I am here to help you return home.”_

* * *

 

 

Thora bolted upright, her eyes wide and her skin covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. Panting, she looked around only to find the twins and Dagur staring down at her with worry and with shock. She frowned, somewhat confused. This wasn’t a jail cell…

Dagur was the first to speak. “…Are you alright?” he asked, caution in his voice.

She slowly nodded, though she still looked confused as she observed her surroundings. “Aye…fine…” she murmured.

“You don’t look _fine_ ,” Ruffnut argued. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Not a ghost.” She shook her head, resting her palm on her forehead. “No. No ghosts. A vision. But o’ what? I don’t understand it…”

“Ah!” Tuffnut cried, eyes wide. He looked at his sister. “Ruff, get the book and quill!”

“On it!”

Dagur watched, baffled, as Ruffnut ran upstairs. He heard the sound of her throwing open a door before she let out a victory cry. Seconds later, she was racing down the stairs. “What the…?”

Tuffnut limped over, a blanket in hand. “Sometimes Thora has visions out of nowhere,” he explained. “All witches do –well, all witches and Völur. They don’t happen often; maybe once or twice a year. But most of the time, they end up being important. If someone’s around when Thora has one, we know we have to get it written down for her while it’s still fresh in her memory.”

He cocked his head, brow rising. “Uh…why can’t she write it down?”

Tuffnut gave him a bland look before motioning at the witch. “Uh, duh? She’s just come out of a vision,” he retorted, his voice somewhat snobby.

“Shush!” Ruffnut suddenly hissed. She had sat down in front of Thora, the book opened to a blank page. “Alright, Thora. Tell me what you remember.”

Closing her eyes, she let out a quiet sigh. “Skaði was there. At least, I think she was Skaðí? There was ice. But…it wasn’t the right land for Skaði.”

“What do you mean by that?” Ruffnut questioned.

“Everything looked wrong. The buildings were entirely stone. Painted stone. There were flowers everywhere. The roads were paved and the people wore strange clothing…I think it was Roman clothing.” She suddenly shook her head. “No. Not Roman. Macedonian.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. Johann wears bits o’ Macedonian clothin’ an’ what I saw looked like his.” Thora clenched her eyes shut, biting her tongue. “There was like…a city within the city. There were some men -these ones looked Roman- an’ a weird lookin’ dragon guarding the doors into this place.”

Dagur remained silent as they listened to Thora explain the things she saw in her vision. As she spoke, he realized what Tuffnut had meant. She was clearly in a daze and recalling the vision seemed to be taking a toll on her. Once in a while, she would pause for a number of minutes, her eyes wide as she stared into nothingness; he wondered if the vision was replaying itself in her mind or if she was going to pass out again.

He didn’t like this.

Wanting to distract himself from how helpless Thora seemed to be and how he was unable to help her, Dagur set about doing chores. Tuffnut, though weakened by his injuries, soon joined in. They both knew that only Ruffnut could help Thora for now.

 

“And that’s everything?”

“A-aye.”

“Are you _sure_ you couldn’t make out anything about the man’s appearance?”

Thora shook her head. “No. Other than he was too skinny…Though, he looked middle-aged. Not sure if it was because o’ all his hair or his health, though.”

Ruffnut nodded in understanding, adding that final note to everything she had written. After nearly an hour and a half, she had collected around four, full pages of information from Thora. Some of it had taken quite a bit of work to get out of her -she had kept talking about the scenery and what everything looked like, insisting it was important to know. Ruffnut disagreed; she thought that the plot of visions was more important, but she wasn’t about to argue with a witch.

“How’re you feeling, lil’ miss witchy?” she questioned, finally closing the book.

“Weak…an’ tired.” She sighed, running her hand over her hair. “How long did the vision last?”

“No more than a quarter of an hour.” She leaned back, resting her weight on her hands behind her. “But that’s your longest one yet -at least, of the ones me an’ Tuff have witnessed. How important do you think this one is? I mean, it doesn’t really seem t’ have anything to do with us.”

“Just because it seems that way doesn’t mean it won’t influence our lives somehow,” Tuffnut spoke, reminding the girls of his and Dagur’s presence. “I mean, the guy could become the next Attila the Hun –except in our part of the world.”

Ruffnut frowned. “He doesn’t _seem_ that important. I mean, Skaði found him locked up in a jail cell, all weak and emaciated. I don’t think he’s going to live much longer.”

Dagur shook his head. “If a goddess set out to find him, he’s definitely important and not about to die.” Crouching down beside Thora, he kissed her temple and handed her a cup of water. “Here.”

She thanked him before taking a sip. The water was ice cold as it slid down her throat; it almost made her teeth hurt.

“Let’s see…Skaði is the goddess of skiing, winter, bowhunting, mountains…” Ruffnut murmured.

“And justice!” Tuffnut chirped. “Don’t forget justice.”

Ruffnut rolled her eyes. “ _And_ justice,” she sighed. “But, unless the guy was some amazing bowhunter known for his ability to hunt while downhill skiing, I don’t really see why Skaðí would see him out.”

“That’s because you’re missing the point,” Dagur replied. “She had said that she was sent by ‘those who love’ because she owes them something.”

Tuffnut nodded in agreement. “That’s right. But that still leaves the question of ‘ _why him_?’ _.”_ He thoughtfully tapped his chin with the end of a spoon he had been using to stir that night’s dinner.

Thora shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she told them. “This isn’t somethin’ for you lot t’ think about. When I’ve got a bit more strength an’ energy t’ me, I’ll set about seekin’ some answers.” She took another drink of water before handing the cup to Dagur. “For now, though…Can someone help me t’ the privy?”

“I will,” Ruffnut told her. Standing, she moved to help Thora up before leading her off into the back of the hut.

Dagur glanced over at Tuffnut, who was stirring a pot of sautéing vegetables. “So, uh…Is this normally what happens after she’s had a vision?”

“Pretty much,” he shrugged. “Sometimes we draw her up a nice bath if it was a particularly tense vision, but since the two of you ‘bathed’ earlier…” His brow rose as he glanced down at the blanket still wrapped around Dagur’s waist, “it’s going to be dinner and cuddles.”

“There’s no need for the two of you to cuddle _my_ wife,” he said, voice dry and unamused. He blinked, suddenly finding a hot spoon less than an inch from the tip of his nose.

“Thora may be your wife,” Tuffnut snarled, “but she was _our_ friend long before you set your tattooed eyes on her. She actually _loves_ us. She just _tolerates_ you.”

Dagur’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of the privy door opening silenced him.

“Dagur is both my husband _an’_ my friend, Tuffnut,” Thora spoke. “I know you an’ Ruff an’ the other riders don’t like that, but it’s the truth. I’m with him in situations that allow me t’ see sides o’ him you won’t get t’ see, because you lot normally only see him in battle. Like everyone, though, Dagur has more emotions besides bloodlust. An’ I’d appreciate it if the two o’ ya _not_ stir up that side o’ him for the time bein’.

“With that said.” She then looked at Dagur. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’m goin’ t’ stop doin’ the things I’ve done for forever with the twins. Ruff, Tuff, an’ I have always had an intimate friendship. It comes with knowin’ someone since ya could walk. It doesn’t make me less o’ your wife an’ it _certainly_ doesn’t change the way I experience our time together because they are _entirely_ different experiences.

“So, I’d really appreciate the lot o’ ya could act like ya were when I was tellin’ Ruffnut about the vision: Peaceful.” She let out a heavy sigh and walked away from Ruffnut; her steps were wobbly, but she was able to stay upright.

The twins and Dagur remained silent as Thora went upstairs. Each of them wore a look that was a mixture of disgust and guilt -they didn’t _want_ to be peaceful with each other. Gods damn it; they were _enemies!_ They weren’t supposed to be peaceful!

But then Dagur took the twins by surprise. “Thora’s stressed enough as it is,” he told them, a hint of defeat in his tone. “For her sake, I’m willing to agree to a _temporary_ peace agreement.” He held out his hand.

Tuffnut eyed it warily for a moment before reaching out and shaking it. “Agreed,” he said.

Ruffnut wore an all-too obvious frown as she, too, shook his hand. “But _only_ for Thora’s sake,” she said, her eyes somewhat narrowed. She glanced over at Tuffnut, finding him nodding in agreement. She then looked upstairs, where she could see the glow of a candle coming into life. “You owe us big for this, Thora!”

“I’ll give ya each a spell when my blood week is over,” Thora called down.

“And a Thorston sandwich tonight!” Tuffnut quickly added.

Thora’s head appeared over the bannister. “Then where is Dagur supposed t’ sleep?”

Tuffnut shrugged. “He can join in on my side of the sandwich,” he suggested, “unless he’d rather sleep in the sickbed.” Making sure Dagur realized his options, he jerked his thumb behind him, at the spot where Thora had earlier patched him up. It had yet to be cleaned of the dried blood and medicines.

Dagur cringed at the thought of sleeping there. “Ah…If it means _not_ sleeping in another person’s blood, I _may_ be willing to take part in whatever this ‘Thorston sandwich’ is.”

Ruffnut poked her brother’s shoulder. “He’s sleeping on _your_ side,” she told him, voice gruff, before heading upstairs.

“Fine with me,” Tuffnut chirped. He then rubbed his hands together. “Great. So. Temporary peace agreement means you can help me finish up with dinner!”

Dagur cocked his brow, but shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

While they returned to cooking, Ruffnut and Thora sat upstairs in a somewhat tense silence. Thora had her knees pulled to her chest as she sat on the floor against her bed; Ruffnut was on the bed behind her, combing through Thora’s still-damp hair.

After some minutes passed, Thora finally sighed. “I know you’re mad at me—”

“I’m not mad at _you_. I’m mad at the situation.”

“- _An’_ ya have every right to be,” she said, somewhat ignoring her. “I know I should have kicked Dagur out the second I saw him here. But I was in a lot o’ pain an’ I was barely strong enough t’ stand, let alone throw him out. T’ be honest, even after he helped me out last night, I was goin’ t’ make him go back today, but when I saw the weather, I…”

“You did what you always do. You took pity on him,” Ruffnut finished for her. She let out a heavy sigh and tugged on the end of one of her braids. “Because you care too much, especially about _him_. I know you want to try and make him our ally -and, honestly? I think you can. I really do!- but he’s on _our_ secret base! You said that you believe him when he told you that he doesn’t know the way here, but…” Letting out a second sigh, she slouched forward as she began braiding one of the sections of hair. “I don’t know. It’s probably because I don’t trust him like you do. I just think he’s lying.”

Thora’s tail reached up and wrapped around Ruffnut’s shoulders, hugging her. “I know ya do, an’ I honestly don’t blame ya,” she answered quietly. “Havin’ him here like this is stupid _an’_ dangerous, I know. It’s been runnin’ through my head since yesterday. I’ve been terrified that you lot would come back early an’ I’d have no way t’ hide him or a way t’ get him out o’ here without bein’ seen.” She buried her face in her palm. “I’m not goin’ t’ let it happen again, though. I promise.”

“I know you won’t. And…you really don’t have to worry about the other riders finding out. I mostly said all that stuff to get you to realize the severity of the situation.”

Chuckling, Thora glanced over her shoulder. “Trust me, I realized it.”

“Good. Now…I think we can drop that subject.” She started to braid a different section of hair. “At least, that part of it. ‘Cause there’s something I need to say about Dagur.”

“Oh gods. What?”

“Well…since I’ve now seen far more of your husband than I ever wanted to-”

“T’ be fair, ya tackled him before he could put any clothes on.”

“- _I_ will admit that you were right about him having a nice body.” She felt her cheeks grow dark red. “But only from the neck to his family jewels. His legs are kind of scrawny, but his chest and arse have a nice jiggle to them.”

She snorted. “Oh really?”

Ruffnut pouted. “Oh come on! You know I can’t resist a good, jiggly body part.” She draped the finished braids over Thora’s right shoulder. “I mean…Fishlegs’ chin, Snotlout’s arms, Kenna’s breasts, your arse…” She let out a wistful sigh. “Such lovely sights…”

Her brow rising, Thora giggled. “T’ each their own,” she told her. “I’m not picky when it comes t’ a person’s looks. I’d be a bit hypocritical if I did that. Ouch!” Ruffnut had tugged on the fine, baby hairs are the base of her scalp.

“We need to work on your confidence,” she scolded. “You’re far from ugly. Clearly, since you were able to land a guy in Enda Fartygins-”

“ _Fjarðarins_.”

“-In Enda Fjarðarins and you’ve got the chieftain of the Berserkers constantly giving you the googly eyes, you’re not the least bit ugly. Hel, ever since you came back from your brothers’ place, I’ve hear a number of people on Berk talk about how pretty you’ve become.”

Thora rolled her eyes. “Right. I bet these are the same folk who called me ‘muddy faced’, ‘forge droppings’, an’ ‘dirty skinned’ while I was growin’ up an’ nothin’ more than a twig. Now that I’m nigh eight feet tall, can do magic, an’ am technically a princess, they suddenly find me t’ be an ‘exotic beauty’.” She let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh that startled Ruffnut. “I don’t trust _anyone_ on Berk outside o’ the riders an’ your mum in regards t’ my beauty _or_ lack thereof.”

Ruffnut bit her lip. “I…I guess I never really thought of it like that,” she murmured. “I just thought they found you attractive for the same reasons me and Dagur do. I totally forgot about you being a princess and all that.”

Sighing, she leaned forward and rested her knees on her chest. “When ya grow up hearin’ people whisper ‘bout how the only way you’d get a husband is through a large dowry or if the bloke was blind…ya quickly realize how shallow an’ cruelhearted folk can be.”

“And you still helped these people before you came with us? I would have given them poison instead of medicine!”

“The world’s cruel enough as is. I may hate who they are as people, but they’re still _my_ people an’ I’m their witch. It’s my duty t’ tend t’ their ills.” She shrugged. “And ya never know…some may still have the ability t’ change. Snotlout did.”

Shaking her head, she let out a quiet curse. “There you go again, being too nice for your own good. But…I suppose it’s not a bad thing. People like you have a way of changing of people, even if it’s in subtle ways.” She glanced up as she heard voices come up the stairs. “You already mentioned Snotlout…but example number two -at least, hopefully example number two- is comin’ upstairs right now.”

Thora glanced up, seeing Dagur step onto the landing. He carried a tray laden with food, though she could tell that it wasn’t the entirety of dinner. She also saw that he had finally replaced the blanket around his waist with his trousers, though he remained shirtless.

As he set the tray down on the bedside table, he glanced over at Ruffnut. “Ah…I have a question for you, if you don’t mind me asking.”

She didn’t look at him, instead keeping her focus on her braiding. “What is it?” she replied, a bit of coldness to her voice.

“Is your brother -er, Tuffnut, right?- into men?”

“And women,” she and Thora replied in unison.

“Oh. Good. Because I thought he was attempting to flirt with me, but I couldn’t be too sure.”

At that, Ruffnut snorted. “Yeah. Tuff’s a big flirt, especially when he’s cooking. Did you smack your arse?”

Dagur shook his head. “No. Should I be worried if he does?”

She shrugged. “Only if you don’t like the thought of a man wanting to bed you.” It was then she looked at him, wearing a devilishly sweet smile. “But don’t worry. You’re not Tuffnut’s type. He’s not into enemies of Berk.”

He stared at her, unimpressed by her words. “Regardless, I’m flattered he finds me attractive enough to flirt with. I’d reciprocate if I weren’t _happily_ married.”

At that, Ruffnut stuck out her tongue in disgust. She managed to keep herself from insulting him, but just barely. She watched as he walked back to the stairs and quickly descended them.

“So, he swings both ways as well?” she questioned, beginning to weave four braids together.

Thora shrugged. “I guess. He’s told me that he’s fancied some men in the past, but he never had a relationship with them -only women. Something about the Berserkers finding relationships like that to be unmanly…?”

Ruffnut let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Two men in a relationship isn’t _manly_?” she scoffed. “You can’t get any more manlier than that!”

“I don’t know; honestly, I don’t. We’ve only briefly talked about it when we were learnin’ ‘bout one another’s… _interests_.”

“Ah. Well, I guess that makes sense. And I hope he paid careful attention to _your_ side of the conversation.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora shifted her sitting position. “I’m sure he did,” she mumbled. “New subject: What was the island like? At least, the parts the two o’ ya got t’ see before the Nadder incident?”

“It was alright, I guess. I mean…We didn’t get to see very much. There was a flock of Nadders and some Nightmares lazing about and a lot of caves on one side of the island. Lots of trees, too. It looked like a good place to find wild boars.”

“You’ve already got a boar pit! Ya don’t need anymore.”

“But they’re so cute! And deadly! …And delicious.”

“You’ve already got ten!”

Ruffnut pouted. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But we can still go there to hunt them. We can’t eat the ones in the pit. Tuffnut named them all.”

Thora chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Dagur soon came back upstairs, carrying a second tray. Ruffnut and Thora were more than a little surprised that he also carried Tuffnut, who clung onto his shoulders as if he were a child. When Dagur reached the landing, Tuffnut slid off, a look of mild admiration on his face.

“Well color me impressed,” he said, heartily smacking the back of Dagur’s shoulder. “I knew you were strong, but I didn’t think you’d be able to carry a fully-grown man _and_ a heavy tray of food _upstairs_!” He walked past him, moving to sit on the bed beside his sister.

Dagur, however, didn’t seem thrilled by the compliment. “You’re as heavy as a child,” he blandly told him. “A _lamb_ weighs more than you.”

Tuffnut shrugged, wearing an innocent smile. “Oh well! I managed to convince you to carry me up the stairs though, didn’t I? _That’s_ what counts.” Ruffnut and Thora snickered as Dagur’s cheeks turned a light pink in embarrassment. Despite wanting to dump the tray of food on their heads, he instead handed it over to the twins before grabbing the first tray and sitting down beside Thora with it.

“They do it t’ me, too,” she reassured him. “Only with different tasks. You’d think I’d be onto them by now, but nope.” Leaning over, she kissed the top of his head, earning looks of disgust from Ruffnut and Tuffnut. “Dinner looks an’ smells good, Tuff. What is it?”

“I’m not sure what to call it,” he admitted. “It’s thinly sliced venison marinated in wine, herbs, and pepper then quickly sautéed. The mash is a mixture of cauliflower and beets with herbed butter and a touch of red wine -I thought those flavors would pair well with the meat. The sauce is the wine marinade reduced until thick with some honey and butter added to it.”

He then nodded in Dagur’s direction, though Thora didn’t see it. “I gotta give Dagur credit, though. He did a lot of the work since I wore out pretty quick. He’s rather good at following directions and his knife skills aren’t too bad.”

“Thanks,” Dagur replied, his tone betraying his uncertainty. He shrugged before stabbing his knife into a piece of venison and shoving it in his mouth.

“The elk came out pretty tender,” Ruffnut commented. “And you’re right: The mash does go well with it.”

“Mhm,” Thora agreed. “Wouldn’t have thought t’ combine beets an’ cauliflower like this, but it works. An’ I don’t even really like beets.”

Tuffnut sat up a little straighter with pride, ignoring the pain in his side. “I’m glad you’re liking it,” he grinned. “I guess that means it’s a keeper recipe.”

Dagur poked his spoon at the mashed vegetables. “I’m still a little weirded out by how you were able to get the vegetables so soft by just boiling them…”

“Boiling them cooks them with the power of heat without drying them out, my temporary ally,” Tuffnut explained. “The hot water gets sucked into them through their skins, slowly cooking them from the outside in and softening up their veggie muscles until you can mush them into submission with a spoon!”

Turning so he could look at Tuffnut, Dagur cocked a brow. “That is the most disturbing way _anyone_ has ever explained boiling vegetables to me.”

A proud grin came to Tuffnut’s wine-stained lips, but he was too busy chewing to speak.

“Ya just gave him an extremely large compliment,” Thora explained. “He loves bein’ informatively disgustin’.”

Dagur said nothing, merely shaking his head as he went back to eating. A few minutes later, however, Thora saw a rather annoyed expression cross his face. She was about to ask him what was wrong when she heard Tuffnut whisper to Ruffnut.

“Hey, uh…can you try chewing with your mouth closed?” he quietly asked. “The sound drives Dagur even more nuts. He nearly took my head off once for it. I only managed to keep it because I sang a song he liked.”

‘What…?’ she thought, brow rising as she chewed a bit of meat. ‘Oh. That’s right. He pretended to be a Berserker bard…’ Leaning back against the bed, she balanced her plate atop her knee while her hand went to her neck, stroking the engagement necklace as she recalled that day. ‘What a weird day that was.’ She glanced over at Dagur, her cheeks growing ever so slightly dark. ‘We had our first kiss that day…and it was the day I technically became engaged to him.’

Glancing over at Dagur, she found the irritation gone from his face and his plate nearly empty. ‘Strange like today. So much happened, it’s still hard to wrap my head around it. At least these three aren’t fighting anymore. I was afraid Ruffnut was going to kill Dagur earlier…I was more scared that Tuffnut was going to die, though. Thank the gods he not only survived, but seems to be doing much better already.’

She covered her mouth as she yawned. She didn’t know how late or how early in the day it was; she only knew that the day was beginning to catch up to her. So many different emotions had coursed through her -on top of having to heal Tuffnut and having a vision as well. A second yawn left her mouth, drawing Ruffnut’s attention.

“Gettin’ tired, sleepy head?” she questioned.

“A bit,” Thora replied. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll agree to that,” Tuffnut sighed. Wiggling somewhat, he moved his legs out from underneath him. “Then again, it was long for me because I was trying to stay alive for over half of it.” He shrugged, shoving the last bite of venison into his mouth.

Thora nodded, covering her mouth as a third yawn prevented her from speaking. Her brow somewhat rose as Dagur took her plate from her knee.

“You’re in no shape to do any clean up,” he told her. “You need to crawl in bed and get some rest. If need be, I can apply some more salve to your back before Ruffnut and I go clean up.”

Ruffnut pouted and opened her mouth to argue against him, but realized that he was, actually, right. Since Tuffnut had made dinner, it was her chore to clean up after him. A defeated sigh left her mouth and she slouched forward slightly. “I hate doing dishes,” she grumbled.

 

Nearly an hour later found Thora fast asleep in bed. Snuggled up to her back with his arms wrapped around her torso was Tuffnut, who was also asleep. It was this sight that Ruffnut and Dagur had found when they returned upstairs from doing the dishes.

“What in Odin’s name…?” Dagur growled, his voice dangerously quiet. “Why is he cuddling my wife!?”

“Relax, dude,” Ruffnut told him. She shrugged off her vest and kicked off her boots. “He’s just half of the Thorston sandwich. It’s not a romantic thing. It’s just what we do when we need to either know that another being cares about us or when we need to destress.” Taking off her helmet, she set it on the floor next to her brother’s. “You get Tuffnut’s side.”

Dagur frowned as he watched her crawl into the bed. Thora stirred just enough to lift her arm up, giving Ruffnut the chance to snuggle in against her. He then scrunched his nose up; he didn’t like the thought of sleeping next to someone he hardly knew. Tuffnut was attractive, yes, but that didn’t help him feel any better.

So, instead, he grabbed a blanket that had fallen on the floor and stole a pillow from the head of the bed.

“What’re you doin’?” Ruffnut whispered, watching him in confusion.

“I don’t want to sleep next to a man I hardly know,” he replied.

“Your loss. Tuff’s a great cuddler.”

Rolling his eyes, Dagur blew out the single candle that illuminated the loft. Left in pitch blackness, he carefully felt his way over to the banister before kneeling down. With a quiet sigh, he stretched out on the floor near the wall. He tucked the pillow under his head and covered himself entirely with the blanket.

‘Maybe I’ll wake up to find out this was just a bad dream?’ he thought, rolling onto his side. The floor wasn’t very comfortable after having spent the night in Thora’s soft bed. ‘Or at least maybe I’ll wake up to find those two buffoons gone. I’d like to have a private conversation with Thora before I leave. Damn! I still need to give her her present, too.’

His nose scrunching up, he once more turned over. This seemed to be the magic position for him, as he was soon able to drift off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dagur…Dagur, it’s time t’ wake up.”

Grunting in protest, he pulled the blanket up over his head. He heard a quiet laugh and frowned; _no one_ laughed at him. Flipping the blanket off his head, he found Thora looking down at him, a brow raised in amusement.

“Finally decided t’ wake up, eh?” she chuckled.

He blinked, momentarily surprised by her presence. His brows furrowed somewhat as he closed his eyes again. “What time is it?”

“Midmorning,” she answered. “The twins went off t’ their own hut. Tuffnut made breakfast, though. There’s enough left for ya.”

Again, he blinked. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.

Thora watched as he tried to sit up, but a pained expression came to his face. He almost instantly laid back down, letting out a quiet curse.

“Remind me to never sleep on the floor again,” he groaned.

Using her tail as well as her arm, Thora slowly helped him sit up. She cringed as she heard the loud pops and cracks his joints made. “Sounds like ya need a bit o’ salve.”

“Eh, when I get up and move around, I’ll feel better.” Yawning, he stretched his arms out and leaned back; almost his entire spine cracked as it was realigned.

Shuddering at the sound, Thora stuck her tongue out. “I hope you’re right, because it certainly doesn’t _sound_ like you’ll be fine.” A squeak left her mouth Dagur grinned. He draped his arms over her shoulders and pulled her towards him, giving her a deep kiss.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her lips. “Of _course_ I’ll feel better.”

“Aye, but now you’re killin’ _my_ back.”

Dagur pouted as he let go, allowing for her to sit upright again. “Spoil sport.” He then noticed something from the corner of his eye: His bag was sitting on the floor beside Thora. “Oh. You opened your gift already?”

An apologetic smile came to her lips. “I didn’t mean to,” she explained. “I was cleanin’ up the medicine bed an’ I saw it laying near me…but I knew it wasn’t mine, so I checked its contents t’ see if it was yours or the twins’.” Her cheeks grew dark with embarrassment. “How long did it take ya t’ gather all those items…?”

He shrugged. “Not very long, to be honest. I’ve been making some rather useful connections of late.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’m surprised ya remembered what all I needed.” Her eyes drifted shut as he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. She didn’t know why, but his touch felt nicer than normal.

“I want you to be able to get a good night’s sleep,” he told her, voice soft. “I know it’s a hard thing for you to come by.”

“Well, thank ya.” She set her hand atop his, smiling at him. “I…I really appreciate it. I know how expensive an’ hard t’ find some o’ those ingredients were.”

He quietly laughed; his thumb stroked her cheek. “What’s a bit of money to a chieftain?” Leaning forward, he kissed her a second time. “I’d buy you anything you ever needed, even if only Brokkr himself could make it.”

Thora felt her cheeks grow darker and her stomach somewhat twisted with excitement. She, however, thought it was just the beginnings of a cramp as she had yet to apply any salve that morning. “The amount ya brought me is enough t’ last me a year or two,” she quietly assured him. “So don’t ya worry about needin’ t’ get me anything else.”

Dagur kissed her chin. “If you insist. But, I will find ways to spoil you.”

“Oh, that I don’t doubt. For now, though, you should spoil yourself an’ eat some breakfast. Tuffnut made griddle cakes with fruit an’ honey! I know ya like strawberries, so I saved ya some o’ the strawberry ones.”

He stared at her, a bit taken aback that she had remembered something so trivial. “You…remembered that I like strawberries?” he questioned. “I only mentioned it once.”

She shrugged before standing up. “Guess this proves I was listenin’,” she smiled. She offered to help him up, but he declined, instead standing on his own. “There’s also bacon. Tuffnut cured it himself a few weeks ago. He used only a few spices with it, but it’s really tasty.”

“No eggs?” he chuckled, following her as she headed for the stairs. He was amused; he had never seen her this, well, _perky_. Not that he minded -in fact, he found it rather adorable. ‘Did my gift make her _that_ happy?’ he thought. ‘Or maybe last night was one of her rare good nights of sleep?’

“Afraid not. Chicken hasn’t laid any lately. Tuff thinks it’s because o’ the weather change, but everyone else is fairly certain it’s because they’re constantly leavin’ her alone when they go out on missions an’ it stresses her out.”

“Understandable.” Hopping off the last step, he made a bee-line for the leftover breakfast food. “So, uh, hey. I don’t remember if I mentioned it on Freya’s Day or not, but I, uh…I need to have a serious conversation with you.”

Thora, who had been filling a mug with hot water, glanced over at him. “Another one?”

“This one’s different. It’s…it’s not about my family.” He sat down and started to cut his griddle cakes into bite-sized pieces. “It’s about business.”

She sat down across from him, stirring the contents of her mug. “I thought we agreed t’ not talk business?”

He sighed. “We did. But this is important; it may mean a change to our weekends together.”

At that, she frowned. “Oh?”

“Remember how I said I was making connections?” She nodded. “Well…let’s just say one of those connections is _extremely_ beneficial for me.” He grinned as a small, dark laugh left his mouth. “I can’t say much more than that, though, because that’ll be too advantageous for dear brother Hiccup…” He shoved some food in his mouth. After a few seconds, all traces of malice left his face. “Damn. My compliments to Tuffnut. This _is_ good.”

“Told you.” She took a sip of her drink. “Now go on. How is this goin’ t’ affect our arrangements?”

Finishing his bite and swallowing it, Dagur leaned back slightly in his seat. “Well, I’ll be sort of working under this connection. Not entirely, of course, since I’m a chieftain and the connection isn’t.” He smugly giggled. “But, I’ll be doing some errands for them. And I have no idea when I’ll be _sent_ these errands, so they could pop up at any time.

“So, kind of like you did this weekend, I may have to send you a letter sometimes if I won’t be able to make our date,” he continued. “That, or I could have you fly to my flagship and spend the weekends there with me - _if_ I’m not being an errand boy, that is.”

Her brow rose as she watched him eat. “Dagur, we agreed that we would meet up in _neutral_ territory,” she reminded him. “That way, we can be sure that neither the riders nor your Berserkers could try to attack either of us. If I were t’ spend the weekend on your flagship, there’s nothin’ stoppin’ them -or you, for that matter- from somehow trappin’ me there.”

His face fell and hurt filled his eyes. “You…you think I’d hold you against your will?” he murmured.

She sighed. “After the last few weeks? I don’t think it’s very likely,” she admitted. “But your men? I know full well how badly they need a proper healer. On top o’ that, Savage wants me dead. You may trust him as one o’ your top men, but I don’t.”

Dagur was silent as he continued to eat.

Biting her tongue, Thora looked down into her mug. “I’ve told ya before: I trust _you._ I do, Dagur. I trust ya with my _life._ But I’m sorry; I don’t trust your men just yet -Fylkir bein’ the one exception.”

“I understand,” he told her, voice quiet. “So, then, we’ll continue meeting on Honeymoon Island when possible?”

She nodded. “Aye. I think that’d be the safest thing t’ do.”

He sighed, setting his fork down on his now-bare plate. “Then I guess I better figure out some way to send you letters, huh?” He smiled, though she could see that a bit of hurt still lingered in his eyes.

“Well, er…there is _one_ way…” She bit her tongue, glancing away as she stroked her necklaces. “I don’t think Hiccup would be very pleased ‘bout it, but we could always train a new Terror or two…”

Dagur lifted his brow. “A new Terror? As in a _Terrible_ Terror?” he questioned, voice bland. “How is a pint-sized dragon going to help with letter sending?”

“Hiccup calls it ‘air mail’,” she began to explain. “Terrors are fairly good at remembering places they’ve been an’ they’re also fairly easy t’ train. So…we’ve trained some t’ send letter back and forth from Berk.” She chuckled at the look of disbelief on his face. “I know, it’s strange. But if I send ya off with one o’ the newer Terrors we’ve trained that hasn’t been t’ Berk yet, it should imprint on ya instead.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. “So, not only do you use the dragons as weapons and transportation, but you use them to do menial tasks like letter carriers? Huh.”

She gave him a dry look. “We don’t use them as weapons,” she told him. “Ya know as well as I that they help us because we’ve become friends with them.”

He shrugged. “Regardless. They help you out in _battle_. But they also help you with everyday chores?”

“Sometimes, though not often because they’re so big. The Terrors, small an’ fast as they are, are perfect for deliverin’ messages.”

“I’ll take your word for it, then.” He leaned back in his seat and lifted his legs, resting them on the table. “So, I’ll be taking a dragon back with me to my armada. Will it know the way back here?”

Thora nodded after taking another drink from her mug. “Aye. They were born here, so they’ll know the way. It’s kind o’ like how turtles an’ some fish can be born in one spot, go live somewhere else when they’re grown, an’ then come back t’ spawn…Except, the Terrors don’t do it for matin’.”

“Strange…” He shrugged once more. “Well, then. I guess I’ll wait here for you to fetch one of the Terrors? I don’t think those twins would enjoy it very much if they caught me going anywhere but _away_ from this place.”

She sighed. “True. Give me ‘bout twenty minutes, alright? I have t’ make sure I find a good match for ya.”

He pouted. “ _All_ dragons are a good match for me,” he told her. “I’m extremely loveable, despite popular belief and I’m _excellent_ with animals.”

Thora stared at him, clearly not believing a word he said. Standing up, she took one final drink from her mug and went to grab a cloak. “Ya mean you’re excellent at _huntin’_ animals,” she corrected.

“I can be a good pet owner! I once kept a spider in the corner of my room alive for four months. I brought it flies and grasshoppers whenever I could. I even named it! I called it ‘Sleipnir’ because of its eight legs.”

“Mhm.” She used her tail to help clasp the cloak pin in place. “What happened t’ Sleipnir in the fifth month?”

A sheepish smile came to his lips and his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Ah, well…I noticed there was a weird blob next to it on the web, so I poked it…and it exploded with millions of spider babies.” He glanced away. “I may have gotten a little freaked out and frightened, so I _may_ have ended up setting fire to that part of my room by accident.”

She stared at him, trying to keep herself from giggling. “Ya set your _room_ on fire because o’ a spider’s nest?”

“I was seven!” he defensively cried. “I didn’t know spiders hatched out of weird little nest balls! I panicked!” Dagur pouted at her. “It was gross. I was twitchy for an entire week after that.” He shuddered at the memory.

“I guess even the great Dagur the Deranged has his moments o’ fear,” she chuckled. Adjusting her cloak so that it sat right, she leaned over and kissed the top of Dagur’s head. “I’ll be back shortly. Try not t’ get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

He frowned. “How can I get into trouble?” he questioned, watching her head for the door.

“Easy enough. There’s a spider’s nest in my privy that I haven’t gotten rid of yet.” She giggled as she watched Dagur shudder and stick his tongue out in disgust. “So, please: Don’t burn down my toilet.”

As she left, she heard Dagur grumbled something about using the heel of his boot to crush their puny spider bodies.


	33. 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't originally plan on this being a chapter all by its lonesome, but after re-reading it and squealing over it's cuteness, I decided that ya'll get a cute lil' bonus chapter here. 
> 
> I'd also like to mention that, from here on out, I'm throwing 90% of RTTE plot out and substituting with my own. This includes stuff from the newest seasons that have yet to premiere. Why? Because I can, that's why. :p

“Knock-knock! Snotlout’s here!” Thora barely flinched when her door burst open and Snotlout came bursting in. With her back to him, she was unable to see that he carried a medium-sized chest. It was packed so full, Snotlout had barely been able to get it shut. “And guess what I have for you?”

“I’m almost afraid t’ ask,” Thora chuckled. She wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead with her tail. “ _What_ do ya have for me?”

He slammed the chest down on the table beside her, making her jump. “Ah…Sorry. Guess I got excited there…” He wore an innocent smile as she half-glared at him. “But I got all the bandages made!” Trying to get the attention off him, he patted the top of the chest. “I used every bit of cloth you gave me. There are thick ones, thin ones, long ones, short ones…And I even got them in rolls for you!”

Brushing some hair from her face, Thora’s half-glare eased in a tired smile. “Thank ya,” she told him. “I really appreciate your help with those. Especially since you lot seem t’ be getting into more dangerous sorts of adventures o’ late.” Turning back to her work, she went back to grinding something into a powder.

Snotlout stood on his tiptoes, peeking over her shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

“Poundin’ freshwater pearls into dust.”

“Why?”

“So I can make a sleepin’ potion.”

“Why?”

“…So I can get some sleep at night.”

Snotlout’s brow rose. “You don’t sleep well?”

“Not usually, no.” Inspecting the contents of her mortar, she found that the pearls had been crushed finely enough for her use. “One of the disadvantages o’ bein’ a healer.” Her tail reached out and grabbed a bowl from across the table.

He watched as she carefully poured the powder into the bowl, covering a mixture of chamomile flowers, rosemary leaves, and what looked to be white rose petals in the dust. “What do you mean by that? There’re downsides to being a healer?”

“O’ course there are!” she laughed, sarcasm all too obvious. “There are almost more downsides t’ bein’ a healer than upsides.” Standing, she went over to the door and peeked outside. “Hm. Still have a few hours until twilight…Gives me time t’ get things ready.”

“Do you need any help?” Snotlout questioned. “Because I’ve got nothin’ to do for the rest of the day.”

Thora cocked her brow as she looked at him. “I’m goin’ t’ be doin’ magic,” she told him. “I don’t think it wise t’ have ya help with that. But…if ya want, ya can watch, I guess?”

He blinked. “Wait, you mean like… _actual_ magic? You’re not just throwing together various ingredients and making a sleepy time drink?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No. I’ll be makin’ a potion that’ll let me sleep deeply an’ dreamlessly, yet it’ll still allow for any important visions the gods need me t’ see pass through.”

“Oh.” He shrugged, hooking his thumbs between his belt and tunic. “Guess that sounds kind of neat. Sure, I’ll stay and watch.” Leaning back against the table, he glanced around. “Oh. By the way, Hiccup wanted me to ask you something.”

Shutting the door, she gave him a quizzical look. “Oh, so he has his blood-cousin come over instead o’ visitin’ his demi-cousin on his own?” she joked. “What does he need?”

He snorted at her sarcasm. “He wants to know if you’ve seen Branch Hopper anywhere lately.”

She paused in her steps. “Branch Hopper…?”

“Yeah. You know -that brown Terrible Terror he had trained to be part of the mail team?” He shrugged. “Apparently, she’s been missing for a few weeks.”

“Really? That’s a shame. Isn’t that the one he had high hopes for?” She bit her tongue, moving across the room to where she kept her cauldrons. ‘Well, at least it took him a while to notice she’s missing,’ she thought.

Snotlout shrugged again. “It was either her or her sister, Tree Licker.”

“Huh. Well, no, I haven’t seen her lately.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; the last time Dagur had sent her a letter was the previous week.

He cocked his head, his brows furrowing as he watched her pull out the smallest of her cauldrons. It looked as if it could only hold two tankards’ worth of liquid and was made of silver. “I’ve…never seen that one before.”

“I don’t get t’ use it often,” she explained. “Silver cauldrons are mostly used for divination an’ sleeping potions -neither o’ which are in high demand.”

“But don’t a lot of people come to you with sleeping problems?”

She nodded. “Aye, but those are ones easily fixed by simple teas or with some spell-whispered herbs.” Bringing the cauldron to the table, she set it beside the bowl of flowers and pearl dust. “Copper is good for most magic, as it’s o’ the earth an’ the sun an’ the magic flows well through it. But when ya use silver, it’s more tied t’ nighttime -the moon, the stars. That sort o’ thing.”

Snotlout slowly nodded, though his brows were still furrowed. “Basically, you use copper for most magic and potion stuff because it’s tied to daytime. But stuff like seeing into the future or communicating with the gods or sleeping is tied to night, so you use silver?”

“Exactly.” She smiled at him. “Ya understood that better than the twins did when I first told ‘em ‘bout the different metals.”

He blew a raspberry, but wore a proud look. “That’s because I understand this magic stuff better than them. My mom used to do little spells and rituals when I was a kid.”

“So did _their_ mom,” she reminded him. “I’m surprised ya picked up anythin’ at all from watchin’ your mom, t’ be honest. Men aren’t really known for their interests in magic.”

He pouted. “Just because it’s taboo for me to learn how to _do_ magic, doesn’t mean I can’t pay attention to _how_ to do magic.”

Thora was silent for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. “Ya know, you’re right,” she conceded. “I’ve never heard anythin’ ‘bout men learning _about_ magic, just learnin’ an’ practicin’ magic in general.”

The smug look returned to Snotlout’s face. “Told ya,” he grinned. “Now. What’re you going to do with that silver cauldron?”

Chuckling, Thora rolled her eyes. “Well, I need t’ fill it with clear stream water, so I was goin’ t’ take Death Dance-”

Snotlout suddenly held up his hand. “Nope. You’re staying here. _I’ll_ go fill this up for you.”

Her brow rose. “Er…I don’t mind ya doin’ that, but… _why_?”

“You’re letting me watch you do magic,” he stated. “Most Völur and witches prefer to do their magic in solitude -that’s why Gothi lives at the top of that huge rock, right? But you’re going to let me -a man, mind you- watch.”

She laughed again. “I forget that humans think magic is an intimate thing at times,” she admitted. “When my brothers were teachin’ me, it was more communal. All three taught me different things while even our servants an’ some friends in the city taught me still more.”

Snotlout cocked his head to the side. “Really? That’s…odd sounding, to be honest. I can understand if they were _all_ witches, but servants and townsfolk…?”

Thora nodded, handing him the small pot as he reached for it. “Aye. But our magics are different. Human magic is within themselves an’ so it’s more taxin’ on the body _an’_ it’s far more intimate t’ use it. Non-human magic, though?” She slowly circled her hand at hip-level and Snotlout’s eyes widened as he watched a coil of light-blue light snake out of the ground and towards her fingers. “It comes from the earth. We channel it _through_ our bodies t’ help bend it t’ our will.”

“But…you’re half human. How does _your_ magic work?” he questioned. He had seen her do magic before, but now that he was paying close attention to what she was doing, he could see that the light was disappearing into her skin, leaving small trails of fluorescent color beneath her skin as it traveled through her body.

“It can go either way for me,” she explained, “but the easiest way for me is how my brothers taught me.” A small frown came to her face and she sighed, letting the magic spill from her fingertips and back into the earth. “At least, it _had_ been the easiest method.”

“Because of that poison in you?”

She nodded. “Outside o’ the Edge, I’m startin’ t’ have t’ use the human ways o’ usin’ magic again -but even _that’s_ difficult thanks t’ the poison.”

“That sounds like it really sucks.”

“It does. I wish I knew o’ a way t’ make the poison leave my body, but every time I’ve sought help from the gods, I’ve gotten no answer.” She sighed and then forced a smile. “At least while I’m here on the Edge, the magic _wants_ t’ be used, makin’ things a lot easier on me.”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Who knows what would have happened by now if it was normal magic here, huh?”  He rubbed the back of his neck before jerking his thumb towards the door. “I’m, ah…I’m going to go get that water now. You said it had to be _clear_ , right?”

“Aye; with as little debris as possible.”

“Will do! I’ll be back soon.”

Thora watched as he darted outside only to let out a small laugh. ‘He’s certainly been more than a little eager to help me out lately,’ she thought, walking over to the table. Unlatching the chest he had brought, she let out a small curse as the lid sprung open, taking her by surprise. Inside, rolls of bandages had been crammed together in order to get the lid shut. ‘he wasn’t kidding when he said he had used every bit of linen…’

Not bothering to shut the chest to the latching point, she carried it over to a shelf, tucking it away until she needed it. Then, she went upstairs and, flopping onto her bed, grabbed a book from her bedside table -her vision journal. Flipping through the pages until she reached the most recent vision, she let out a sigh and began to read Ruffnut’s transcription for the tenth time in three weeks.

‘This still doesn’t make sense to me,’ she thought, frowning. ‘Why would Skaði be so far south? _Those that love_ are obviously Freya and Freyr, but who do they want to help bring home? And why? Why is this one person so important that they cashed in a favor to another goddess?’

Turning the book, she squinted at one of the little notes Ruffnut had left in the margin. ‘Man looked middle aged. Maybe someone important like lost king?’ it read.

“A lost king would make sense,” she murmured, unconsciously nodding in agreement with the text. “But there _are_ no kings currently lost. …At least, out here in the archipelago there are none. I’m not sure about the mainland.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? Of course there’s a lost king out here.”

She let out a small yelp as Snotlout startled her out of her thoughts. “Hel’s hose, Snotlout -ya scared me!”

“Sorry.” He wore a sheepish grin; he was almost _never_ able to sneak up on her. “I thought you would have heard me an’ Hookfang come back. We got your water. Death and Hookfang are playing around out front now.” Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what’s that?”

“My vision journal,” she sighed, leaning back against the wall. “You can sit on the bed if ya like.”

He cocked a brow, glancing between her and the foot of the bed. “Is it safe? I mean, I know the twins sleep in there sometimes…” he joked, walking towards the bed.

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “O’ course it’s safe. I make them bathe before they stay the night.”

Snotlout snorted. “Good.” Due to his shorter-than-average height, he had to somewhat jump in order to get on the bed. “So. A vision journal, eh? Anything about how I become the richest and strongest man on Berk in there?”

“No,” she replied, brow rising. She then looked back down at the journal. “Actually…Now that ya mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a vision involving the riders.”

“Well, that’s just wrong. We’re the Defenders of Berk! You should be having lots of visions about us and our glorious, victorious battles against people.”

She laughed. “Visions don’t quite work like that, Snotlout.” Closing the book, she set it back on the table. “Visions are glimpses o’ the present or future -or, in really rare cases, the past- that the Norns allow ya t’ see. They’re usually confusing at the time o’ seein’ them, but end up making sense later on.”

“Like how Freyr told you that a monster was coming to Berk and bringing along a new enemy?”

“No. That wasn’t a vision. That was me directly askin’ the gods for their help. Visions almost always happen out o’ nowhere. I could be havin’ a conversation with someone one minute an’ the next, I’m layin’ on the floor, unconscious. Or, I could have a vision in the middle o’ sleepin’. Those ones are the most difficult t’ decipher, since…well, it’s hard t’ know if they were actual visions or just dreams.”

He blinked, his head tilted somewhat to the side. “So what do you do then? Do you just forget them?”

She shook her head. “No. I write them down, even if they may have just been a dream.” Her hand went to her necklaces. “Somewhat off topic, but when ya came up here, ya said the archipelago has a missin’ king…? What do ya mean by that?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he told her. “Don’t you remember? A certain father-in-law of yours has been missing.”

Thora swallowed hard; she didn’t remember telling any of the riders that Dagur hadn’t killed Oswald. But how else could Snotlout know…?

“B-but Dagur killed him, didn’t he?” she stammered, unable to contain her shock. “He told us that, remember? That he had been ‘retired’…?”

Snotlout blew a raspberry and laughed. “ _Please_ , Thora. Do you really think I’d believe that?”

She let out a breath she had unconsciously been holding. ‘Thank the gods; it _wasn’t_ me who told him.’

“It’s obvious the Berserkers exiled Oswald the Agreeable,” he continued, not noting her relieved sigh. “I mean, it’s right there in their tribe name: They’re the _Berserkers_ , not the Agreeables. They got sick of him, booted his ass out, and put Dagur on the throne.”

“That…is actually rather likely,” she told him. Despite knowing it was wrong, she had to agree that it seemed to be something Dagur’s tribe _would_ do. “So, ya think that Oswald’s still alive, then?”

He nodded. “Yeah. _Where_ he’s at, though? Now _that’s_ the question.” He then gave her a strange look. “Why were you even wanting to know about missing kings in the first place?”

Pulling her knee up and tucking it under her chin, she explained her recent vision to him and the note that Ruffnut had left. It took her awhile, as Snotlout interrupted her to ask some questions about small details, until she simply handed him the journal to read. He frowned at this; he had never been a fan of reading. He didn’t complain, though.

“Yeah,” he finally said when he finished reading. “This person is clearly someone important. And if he’s middle aged, that puts him in the right age group to be Oswald.” He shrugged, handing the book back. “Skaði’s a goddess of justice, so maybe she and the Vanir are wanting to reinstate Oswald as the rightful king of the Berserkers? That is, if he really was wrongly exiled.”

She stared at him. “That…actually makes a lot o’ sense,” she admitted. “But why would he be so far away?”

He shrugged. “You’re askin’ me?” he snorted. “I’m just taking a guess here.” Chuckling, he lightly shook his head.

“Well…thank ya. Ya gave me a possible lead on that vision,” she told him. “I’ll consult the runes about it later t’ see if that’s goin’ in the right direction.”

At that, he blinked. “Hey, uh…actually, speaking of runes…” Glancing away, he fell quiet for a moment. Thora could tell he was debating whether or not to ask her something. “Y’know, never mind…”

“No, go ahead,” she gently urged him. “You can tell me.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his cheeks turning ever so slightly pink. “Ah…er…can you do rune readings for other people? Or can you only do them for like, chieftains and yourself and stuff?”

“I can do them for anyone I’d like. Would ya like a readin’ done?”

His cheeks grew darker in color. “…Will you tell the others about it?”

She shook her head. “A readin’ is a witch service,” she told him, “an’ I tell no one ‘bout witch services unless another’s fate depends on it.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. “Then, ah…yeah. Can you do a reading for me?” He watched as she slipped off the bed and went over to the banister. She paused for a moment before picking up one of three different velvet bags. Then, she returned to the bed, though she sat closet to him this time.

“Here,” she told him, offering him the back. “Hold this in both hands while you think of what you want to ask the runes.”

“…Do I tell you the question?”

“Not yet.”

Again, he nodded and, taking the bag from her, held it in his palms. Closing his eyes, he kept repeating his question over and over in his mind. After a few minutes, he felt Thora set her hand over top his and a strange coolness began to flow along his fingers. Opening his eyes, he could see the remnants of magic soaking into the bag from his hands.

“What-?”

Thora plucked the bag from his hand, cutting him off. “A wee lil’ magic t’ help the readin’ be more accurate,” she smiled. “Now. What was your question?” She opened the bag, beginning to pull out stones.

“I…I asked them what my future with the riders is like,” he admitted, looking away as he rubbed his neck.

She cocked her head as she laid the third stone down. “Ya seem like a fairly essential part o’ the team to me.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes…it doesn’t really feel like it,” he sighed. “I’m not as smart as Hiccup or Fishlegs, I’m not as brave as Astrid, and I’m not as crafty as the twins. Sometimes, it just feels like I don’t really have any business being part of the group.”

“Well, that’s just not true. There have been plenty o’ times that you’ve been brave an’ smart _an’_ crafty,” she told him. “Ya think Hiccup didn’t tell me ‘bout how ya tried t’ stand up t’ the Fireworm Queen when Hookfang was sick? Or how ‘bout the time when you were willin’ t’ help Fishlegs take care o’ the rest because they were sick an’ I had t’ go meet up with Dagur? Astrid said you were able t’ get _her_ t’ take some medicine an’ she’s impossible when it comes t’ medicine!”

“You just need to either shove it in her mouth while she’s telling you why she _doesn’t_ need it or you distract her and dump it in her food,” he told her, a half-hearted smile on his lips.

“I’ll be sure t’ keep that in mind,” she chuckled. She then looked down at the stones. “Shall I tell ya the answer t’ your question now?”

He nodded.

“I didn’t do a specific layout,” she explained, pointing at the three stones, “just a general one for quick answers. But, from what I’m seein’ here, you’re goin’ t’ remain an essential member o’ the dragon riders.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Wunjo here points t’ fellowship an’ harmony, so that’s definitely a good sign that you’re goin’ t’ remain a part o’ the riders. Sowulo indicates that you’re goin’ t’ be achievin’ goals ya set for yourself as well as providin’ support an’ protection t’ others. Lastly is opila, which can simply be summed up as having a sense o’ family.” Tucking some hair behind her ear, she smiled reassuringly at Snotlout. “So, it looks like you lot are goin’ t’ become a lot closer in the comin’ future -which makes sense. As ya said, you lot are the defenders o’ Berk. You _are_ a family. The more ya protect Berk, the closer ya get. Sure, ya have squabbles every now an’ then, but what family doesn’t?”

His brow rose, though he wore a relieved smile. “Why are you talkin’ like that?”

She frowned, confused. “Like what?”

“Like you’re not part of the group. You’ve got a dragon, don’t ya?”

“Well, aye, but I’m not necessarily-”

He frivolously waved his hand. “ _You’re_ our sense-talking, spell-throwing, wound-healing person. Yeah, you don’t fight, but you still save our asses when we get hurt. And…you took one for the team by marrying Dagur. With us not having known where you and Hiccup went that day, I don’t think we would have gotten you two back.”

It was her turn to wear the half-hearted smile. “I just wish it was easier t’ make him see that us bein’ allies is better than us bein’ enemies.”

Snotlout shrugged and leaned back, resting his weight on one hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he admitted. “I mean…Not to call myself an asshole or anything, but I used to be a major asshole to you. But, the more I was forced to hang around you and talk with you, the more I realized that you’re—you’re actually a pretty cool person.”

A look of mock surprise came to her face. “Wait, _what_?” she gasped, sounding purposely overly dramatic. “ _You_ think I’m a ‘pretty cool person’? By Odin’s beard, Snotlout! What happened t’ ya?!”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, very funny!” He reached over with his foot, giving her own foot a small shove. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

She grinned. “An’ ya think I’m not?” she giggled. “But honestly, that’s a big difference from when we were younger. Especially the times when ya threatened t’ have my head on a spear.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, letting out a small chuckle. “Yeah…it’s like people change as they grow up,” he replied, voice sarcastic.

“Well, I’d say this is a pleasant change,” she told him. “Thank ya.”

“No. Thank you…for—for a lot of things, really. You literally had every reason to not help me out with anything and yet…you’ve done a reading for me without question. You’ve healed my wounds without question. You’ve given me advice without question. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

“What can I say?” she smiled. “You’re a friend an’ I’d do anythin’ for my friends.”


	34. 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, another chapter in just a few days? Whoa. Anyway. Gentle reminder that I'm going to barely adhere to season 3's plotline and am paying no attention at all to season 4, 5, and 6's plotlines. I've got other things planned :3

“See, girl? Gettin’ a bath isn’t so bad, now is it?”

Death Dance grumbled, resting her head on the ground as Thora used a broom to scrub her neck. Being the first somewhat-sunny and mildly warm day of spring, she thought to put it to good use by washing off all the mud and yuck that had collected on her dragon during the winter. Death, however, was not a fan -at least, she wasn’t a fan of the froufrou-smelling soap that her rider was using to clean her with.

“I’m almost done,” Thora cooed, scrubbing at one of the vertebrae on Death’s neck. “Be glad I’m not doin’ the most thorough o’ jobs. If Fishlegs were cleanin’ ya, it’d be a three-day affair an’ include a foot massage.”

Snorting, Death tilted her head, allowing Thora to access the underside of the vertebrae.

“And I know ya don’t like the smell,” she continued, “but ya know as well as I that the herbs I’m usin’ help keep critters off o’ ya. The last thing we need is for ya t’ be covered in fleas an’ ticks.”

Making a somewhat mocking sound, Death shook herself, flinging bits of soap and water on her rider.

“Thanks,” she dryly said.

Shaking her head, she dipped her broom into the bucket of sudsy water once more before returning to scrubbing. She cocked her head somewhat; she could hear the sound of approaching wings. Looking up, she saw the twins flying towards her hut.

“Here comes trouble,” she murmured under her breath, though she wore a smile.

A happy sound left Death’s mouth and she lightly clacked her jaws together as Barf and Belch landed a few yards away. As the twins dismounted, the Zippleback waddled over to the Boneknapper, both heads nuzzling either side of her freshly-washed jaw bone. In return, she gently bumped her forehead against theirs.

“Really? You’re making Death Dance take a bath, too?” Tuffnut snickered as he and Ruffnut approached Thora. “Wasn’t it bad enough that you made the _rest_ of us bathe? Now you’re taking it out on your poor dragon?”

“Cleanliness is a good thing,” Thora chirped. “Especially after the last few weeks o’ bein’ in the pourin’ rain -which, by the way, does _not_ count as bathin’.”

Ruffnut pouted. “Oh, c’mon! I put some oils in my hair one of the days and rinsed them out with the rain.” A proud grin suddenly replaced her pout. “It made my clothes clean, too!”

Thora rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Lovely. Snotlout’s poor hygiene is startin’ t’ influence ya…”

“Um, excuse _you_ ,” Tuffnut scoffed. “We’ve had poor hygiene _long_ before Snotlout decided he’d only bathe when it rains!”

“Yeah!” Ruffnut chimed in. “Wait.” She looked at her brother, frowning. “ _I_ don’t have bad hygiene. Bad things happen when us girls don’t wash. _You,_ on the other hand, are gross.”

Tuffnut half-heartedly glared at her as he crossed his arms over his chest. “So this is how it ends? My own _twin_ betraying me in favor of smelling like some dew-kissed rose in the midst of summer?”

Ruffnut’s brow rose and she opened her mouth to speak, but she ended up cackling as Thora thwacked Tuffnut atop his helmet with the sopping-wet broom.

“Oh, come _on!”_ he cried, starting to ring out his hair. “I bathed two days ago; isn’t that good enough for you?” Wearing a pout, he held up one of his dreadlocks, smelling it. “Ugh. Now I smell like mint and…whatever else you put in that water.”

Chuckling, Thora dipped the broom into the bucket once more, but she left it there. “Go on, Death -go play with Barf an’ Belch,” she told her dragon. “We’ll be inside.”

With a cheery squawk, Death Dance spread her wings and started lolloping after the Zippleback as it ran off.

“Your dragon is a giant puppy,” Ruffnut commented, watching them take to the air. “Most of our dragons are like giant cats or birds, but yours? Yours is a giant _puppy_.”

“I know. Isn’t she cute?” Thora grinned.

At that, Tuffnut cocked his brow. “Uh…if you consider giant dragons covered in the bones of other giant, dead dragons cute…”

“She’s got a couple o’ turtle shells!” Thora frowned. “An’ she is a cute dragon! How can ya not think somethin’ with her adorable, lovin’ attitude isn’t cute?”

The twins cracked up at her defensive reaction. “We were just kidding,” Ruffnut snickered.

“Yeah. Death’s kinda cute, but she’s got nothin’ on Meatlug and her herd of Gronckles,” Tuffnut agreed.

“…Alright, ya got me on that one, but that’s _only_ because Gronckles has those big, expressive eyes.” Her tail brushed some hair from her face, pulling it over her shoulder. “Have the two o’ ya eaten yet?” She started to walk towards her hut.

“Yeah,” the chorused.

“Just got back from having a bite with Snotlout, actually,” Ruffnut explained. “Tuffnut made us some salmon cakes with a dill and cream cauliflower mash.”

As she heard the description of the meal, Thora’s stomach rumbled loudly. Her cheeks darkened. “May have t’ get ya t’ make that for me sometime, Tuff,” she joked, entering her house. She headed for her larder.

The twins, however, made themselves right at home by sprawling out on one of the benches. Tuffnut tucked his hands under his head after covering his eyes with his helmet. Ruffnut kicked off her boot and draped herself partway over the edge of the bench, letting her rest upside-down.

“If you ask nicely an’ let me be the big spoon next Thorston sandwich, I will,” Tuffnut called, grinning.

Thora leaned back, poking her head out of the pantry. “Oi! It’s not my choice who’s the big spoon or who’s the lil’ spoon with the two o’ ya. I’m just the middle spoon.”

“She’s right,” Ruffnut agreed with a chuckle.

Tuffnut frowned, but didn’t move from his spot. “Alright then. I’ll make you salmon cakes and dill-cream cauliflower if you ask nicely _and_ if you get Snotlout to walk around shirtless for an entire day.”

“Er…why Snotlout?” she questioned, coming out of the room with a bit of bread and cheese. “An’ why shirtless?”

“Why _not_ shirtless?” Ruffnut grinned. “Thora, are you forgetting how attractive our group of friends is? I mean, yeah, once they open their mouths, most of them become ugly, but so long as they remain silent…”

His brow rising, Tuffnut tilted his head up and lifted his helmet a bit to stare at his sister. “Actually, I was just thinking it’d be a good chance to steal that damned tunic of his so I can finally fix his shoulder patch,” he told her. He then shrugged, lowering his helmet and head once more. “But yeah. If he keeps his mouth shut, he makes good eye-candy. Astrid and Fishlegs would make better eye-candy, though.”

“Eh…Astrid doesn’t have the right amount of jiggle to her.”

“So says you. You just like your women on the curvy-and-deadly side. Astrid’s only on the deadly side.”

Thora let out a sigh, shaking her head as she took a bite out of cheese. “I’ll dump somethin’ on Snotlout tomorrow an’ tell him that his shirt needs t’ dry without him in it,” she told Tuffnut, preventing Ruffnut from furthering the conversation. “I’ll tell him it’s somethin’ that’ll burn his skin or the like.”

“That’ll work,” Tuffnut chirped. “So long as it doesn’t _actually_ burn the skin, that is.”

“Eh, it won’t. I’ll make it diluted clove essence or somethin’.”

Ruffnut blinked as she suddenly remembered something. Sitting upright, she grinned somewhat as the world swam before her eyes and the blood rushed out of her skull. “Actually, speaking about Snotlout, a couple weeks ago he mentioned that you let him watch you do some ‘real potion making’,” she said, using her fingers to make air quotes. “What kind of potion did you make? And why’d you let him watch?”

At that, Tuffnut pushed his helmet back a second time. “What!? You did real magic without _us_? Not fair!”

She quietly laughed and broke off a bite of bread. “Don’t worry. It was a borin’ potion.” She popped the bread into her mouth.

“ _You_ call it boring! _We_ call it fascinating!”

“I just made a sleepin’ potion is all. An’ I let him watch because…well, he’s been a big help t’ me lately an’ he seemed interested.” She shrugged. “I would have let the two o’ ya watch -Hel, I would have let _everyone_ watch- had I known ya were interested.”

Ruffnut pulled a leg up to her chest, tucking her knee under her chin. “He said it was really neat, watchin’ the magic swirl all around ya an’ then into the cauldron.”

“Yeah,” Tuffnut sighed. “He sounded pretty awestruck by the whole thing. And you know Snotlout -usually the only way to make him sound that way is to turn into Thor Bonecrusher or someone with lots of muscles and strength.”

“Or a pretty girl,” Ruffnut added.

Thora chuckled. “Well, I’m glad t’ hear he enjoyed watchin’. But, honestly, the magic I did that night was more about how the potion was prepared an’ makin’ sure I timed everythin’ just right. Askin’ Ursula for her help wasn’t bad, either.”

“Ursula?” the twins chorused.

“Ah. A mainland goddess o’ night an’ the moon. She’s usually invoked for spells havin’ t’ do with sleep an’ dreams.” Eating a bit more bread, she leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on a stool. “My brothers taught me what deities t’ seek help from when I need specific help,” she continued. “So, sometimes I ask help from gods who aren’t our own.” She shrugged.

“And they listen?” Tuffnut questioned.

“If I ask nicely enough, aye.”

“But I thought gods only dealt with those who worshipped them?” Ruffnut asked. “Like how we worship the Æsir and the Vanir. They wouldn’t help a Roman, would they?”

Once more, Thora shrugged. “That, I can’t answer. I just know what my brothers told me an’ that’s that the gods will help those who ask nicely. Come in.”

The twins blinked, looking at the door as it opened. Astrid gave a small smile as she stepped in. “Heard me coming did you?” she joked.

“Heard Stormfly, actually,” Thora smiled. “What can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering if you had any mint, angelica, or chamomile handy? Stormfly flew through some trees that left me feeling kind of itchy.” She walked over as Thora sat upright and motioned for her to come further into the hut. Holding out her arm, she watched as she inspected the puffy, red welts along the exposed skin of her arm.

“Hm. Nothin’ poisonous, so it’s just an allergy,” Thora murmured. “Ya can tell by how the welts are individual like this. If ya had flown through somethin’ poisonous, they’d be larger an’ coverin’ more o’ your skin -plus, ya’d probably have more symptoms than just itchiness.”

“That’s good to know,” Astrid sighed. “I’ll be sure to steer clear of that kind of tree in the future.”

“You’ll have t’ show me the trees. I’d like t’ see what kind they are in case anyone else here has an allergy -or _worse_ allergy- to them.” Standing up, she went over to her wall of herbs.

“I know they were covered with flower buds, but that’s about it.”

Ruffnut grinned cheekily. “Out gathering flowers for your boyfriend, were you?” she teased.

Astrid’s cheeks grew pink as she rolled her eyes. “And _who_ would that be, Ruffnut? Last I checked, I _didn’t_ have a boyfriend.”

“Then why the midnight flights with Hiccup all the time?” Tuffnut grinned. “Unless you’re doing reconnaissance missions without us, of course.”

Her cheeks bright red by now, Astrid clenched her fists. “I have _no_ idea what you’re-”

“That arsehole!” Thora suddenly snapped. The three turned to look at her, finding her surrounded by empty jars. “He stole most o’ my calmin’ herbs!” There was anger in her eyes and her lips were drawn back in a snarl. Astrid unconsciously took a step back; she looked very much like an angered animal.

“Hang him by his toes in the clubhouse! Have the dragons fart in his face and then cover him in honey for the flies!” Tuffnut cried out, sitting up. “Wait, who’re we talkin’ about here?”

Thora ran her hand through her hair, letting out a deep, low growl. “Hiccup! That arse asked t’ use _some_ o’ my calming herbs for some experiments with the dragons, but he took _all_ o’ them!”

Her tail whipped around, motioning at the jars. “All my lavender. All my chamomile. All my angelica. All my rosemary! _ALL O’ IT!_ ” Letting out another growl, she gripped her forehead and clenched her eyes shut in anger. “An’ it was all high quality -does he _not_ know how hard it is t’ find perfect plants?!” She cursed under her breath.

Astrid gave her a pitying look. “Yeah, that sounds like Hiccup alright,” she admitted. “Don’t worry about me, Thora -I’m sure a normal bath will do just fine. I’ll also be sure to send Hiccup your way if I see him.”

Shaking her head, Thora went over to her shelf of oils. “No, no…I still have my oils. Let me make ya up a quick jar o’ oils an’ _then_ ya can feel free t’ send Hiccup t’ me.”

“Just don’t warn him about the ass chewing he’s about to get!” Ruffnut cackled. “Oh, that’s going to be _amazing_ to witness.”

“He-who-can-do-no-wrong Hiccup…finally getting a taste of his own medicine!” Tuffnut let out a wistful sigh. “It’ll be so beautiful.”

“Ya think it’s funny,” Thora grumbled, pouring a bit of chamomile oil into a jar before adding in just a couple drops of rosemary oil. “But some o’ those are really hard t’ find out here on the Edge an’ I don’t have enough seeds t’ properly restock my stores.” She filled the jar halfway with lavender oil before adding just three drops of mugwort essence. Clamping the jar shut, she gave it a good shake, the jar lighting up somewhat as she infused it with a bit of magic. “I’m goin’ t’ have t’ spend a few days huntin’ down a new supply.”

At that, Astrid frowned. “You mean on that island where Hiccup and you got kidnapped by Dagur?” Thora nodded. “Yeah, _that_ sounds safe.”

“It is,” Thora sighed. “Dagur agreed t’ not visit that island anymore since I use it for medicines.”

“And if there’s one thing you can trust about Dagur, it’s him keeping his promises to Thora,” Ruffnut added. She made a teasing kissy face at Thora. “He’d do anythin’ for his beloved wifey.” She playfully batted her eyelashes, making Astrid cringe at the sight.

Thora’s cheeks grew dark and she reached over with her tail, thwacking Ruffnut. “That was just horrifying,” she stated. She then looked to Astrid, handing her the jar. “But…she’s right. Dagur would do anythin’ for me an’ that includes keepin’ his promises t’ me. So I’ll be safe there.” She paused, her head tilting somewhat. “Hm. My hut seems t’ be popular today…Come in.

Hiccup poked his head in, a surprised look coming to his face when he saw that Astrid and the twins were already there.

“Speak o’ the devil!” Thora grinned, though it was an almost malicious one. “Hiccup, my _dear_ demi-cousin!” Before he could move, she came over to him and hooked her tail around his torso, pulling him inside. “We were _just_ talkin’ ‘bout ya!”

He swallowed hard, suddenly regretting being present. “Ah…uh, you were?” he stammered, forcing a smile. He shrank back somewhat as Thora brought him over to the table and motioned to the many empty jars that filled its surface.

“Aye, we were,” she replied, her voice tersely sweet. “It seems _someone_ took a large part o’ my medicinal stock when he only asked t’ use _some_ o’ it.”

A sheepish smile came to Hiccup’s lips as he looked up at his cousin. “Ah, well…ya-you know how th-things get when you’re experimenting,” he said through a nervous laugh. “You lose track of how much of one thing you’re using and how much of another thing you’re using and-and-and when you get so caught up in the research, you just—”

“Ya just forget that these herbs’ main purpose in our lives is t’ heal, eh?” she finished for him, the sweetness gone from her voice.

Hiccup nodded and smiled meekly.

Closing her eyes again, Thora unwrapped her tail from around his shoulders. She plopped down in her chair, sighing. “Hiccup, ya literally used my _entire_ supply o’ calmin’ herbs. I only have oils an’ essences left. What if an emergency popped up an’ I needed the actual plants?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away guiltily. “Ah, I know, Thora, I know. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice for a while.” He glanced at her, finding her unimpressed by his excuse. “I mean, we have to go back to Berk as soon as possible!” he explained. “Our food supply is really low and we’re running out of salt and lantern oil. I was going to ask Gothi for some of her herbs while we were there to give to you, but…” He sighed. “I guess _that_ plan didn’t work out like I had hoped.”

“Nope,” Astrid chirped, her arms crossed. Like the twins, she had been wearing a small grin as Thora scolded Hiccup. “Not at all. Now she wants to go to that one island to restock her supplies.”

He blinked, looking at Astrid in surprise. “Oh? Well, that’s alright.”

Astrid then frowned. “Wait, you’re going to let her?”

“Dagur promised to stay away from that island,” he explained, “so I don’t see why not. She’s been there plenty of times before, both with and without others to help her.”

“The herb thief speaks the truth,” declared Tuffnut. “We’ve been with her to that island. It’s really boring, actually. There are _some_ animals, not many dragons, and a _lot_ of plants.”

Ruffnut nodded in agreement. “It’s like…Thora’s paradise or something there. _Boring_.”

A sigh of defeat left Astrid’s mouth. “Alright then. If all of you agree that it’s safe, then I don’t see any problem with her going there.”

“Good,” Thora said. “I’ll go herb huntin’ while you lot are on Berk.”

At that, Hiccup frowned. “What?! But what if something happens to you?”

She gave him a bored look. “Did we _not_ just establish that the island is safe?” she retorted, irritation in her voice. “Even _if_ somethin’ were t’ happen, I can handle myself. An’ it’s not like I’m goin’ t’ be gone more than a few days. I’ll probably be back here before you’re back from Berk.”

“True,” Hiccup murmured. “But I’d still prefer it if you stayed here. Just to watch over things while we’re gone.”

Ruffnut spoke up now. “Uh, what? But on other resupply trips to Berk, you brought _all_ of us with you. You didn’t care if anyone was here to watch over things _then_.”

“Yeah,” Tuffnut agreed. “Why the sudden change?”

“Oh, come on!” Hiccup cried. “You know how trouble likes to follow us around like a lost dragon hatchling! I’m just trying to be cautious for once.”

Astrid walked past him, chuckling. “Then you _shouldn’t_ have used up all of Thora’s herbs,” she teased. “Thanks for the oils, Thora. Have a safe trip!” With a small wave, she left the hut.

The twins snickering at his plight, Hiccup let out a sigh. “Alright, alright…I’m fine with you going to the herb island -can we just call it Herb Island, by the way? It’s easier to remember- while we’re resupplying on Berk. Just make sure to take your ax with you, alright?”

Thora cocked her brow. “I never leave here without it,” she chuckled. “Er…unless I’m meetin’ up with Dagur.”

“Which hasn’t happened in a week or two.” Hiccup’s brow rose as he looked at her. “Why is that?”

She shrugged. “All I know is it has to do with his business an’ we don’t talk ‘bout that when we’re together.”

“Unless,” Ruffnut snickered, “his _business_ happens to be a One or a Two and isn’t normal.”

The rest stared at her, unsure what she had meant, but knowing it was crude.

“Oh c’mon! You know -Ones and Twos? Pees and poops?”

Hiccup smacked his forehead. “Really, Ruffnut?” he groaned.

Pouting, Ruffnut crossed her arms and looked away. “It’s not my fault the rest of ya don’t appreciate the sacred art of privy humor.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright, everyone! Remember: This is your last chance to relieve yourselves until Berk. Go now or fill up your helmet later!”

“Ugh…that’s the fifth time you’ve told us, Fishlegs. I think we’ve all relieved ourselves by now.”

“Says the one who likes to hold his waste until he’s ready to burst.”

Snotlout glared at Fishlegs. “You be quiet.”

Thora chuckled as she adjusted the buckle on Death Dance’s saddlebags. “He’s just tellin’ the truth. The last time we went on an extended flight, we had t’ soak your helmet in vinegar for an entire _day_ t’ get the smell out.”

Pouting, Snotlout crossed his arms. “You’re not even coming with us, so shush it up, missy.”

She playfully stuck her tongue out at him. In return, he pulled down one of his lower eyelids and blew a raspberry at her.

“Do you need us to grab you anything while we’re on Berk?” Hiccup questioned from his spot on Toothless’ back. “Any utensils or bandages maybe?”

“I’ve got plenty o’ bandages,” she replied. As Death laid her tail out on the ground, she walked up it like a gangplank. “If ya stop by Gothi’s, ya can see if she has any spare yarrow -seeds or dried, preferably.”

“Yarrow. Got it. Anything else?”

“That should be it. It’s the only thing I haven’t been able t’ find on Herb Island. Oh, but ya can say hi t’ da’ for me.” She paused in her steps, a small frown coming to her lips. “And, er…let me know if Uncle Stoick is still upset about the whole ‘I’m married t’ Dagur’ thing, will ya?”

Nodding, Hiccup watched as she settled down in her saddle. “Then, I guess we’ll see you in a couple of days. Blessed flight.”

“Blessed flight t’ ya, too.” There was a small smile on her lips as she watched the riders take off into the air, heading east. She and Death watched them fly for a few minutes before Death, too, took to the air. Unlike the others, however, she headed south.

The flight wasn’t very long -ten minutes or so- and, with the clear weather, it was a smooth flight. Having learned from past visits, the Boneknapper flew some ways inland before landing in a clearing. She wouldn’t allow herself to be ambushed again.

Sliding from her seat on Death’s neck, Thora went to her hindquarters and opened up one of the saddlebags. “I may be a while,” she warned her. “I’ve got a lot o’ herbs t’ replace an’ with it only bein’ the beginning o’ spring an’ all, I’m goin’ t’ have t’ scour the whole island for them.”

Death Dance made a noise of understanding as she laid down, making it easier for her rider to reach into the bags.

“If I’m not back by dusk, feel free t’ come hunt me down. I’ll probably have gotten too caught up in what I’m doin’.”

Again, an understanding sound left her throat and she turned her head, watching Thora.

“An’ if ya get at all hungry, feel free t’ snoop around the tidal pools. There may be new starfish for ya t’ munch on.” She pulled out her battered-but-still-functional satchel, shouldering it.

This time, the sound Death Dance made was a mix of curiosity and joy.

Thora chuckled, patting her flank. “I know, I know. Ya love starfish. Maybe you’ll someday find one that is more than nibble-sized, eh?” She then pulled out a small, wooden chest before closing the saddlebag. “Try not t’ get _too_ bored while I’m gone, alright?”

Death Dance turned herself entirely around, tilting her head down to nuzzle her rider. As she did so, she made a deep, purr-like sound in the back of her throat.

She rested her forehead against the end of her boney snout. “Aye, I’ll be safe. I promise. Not like I can get myself married off again, is it?” A soft laugh left her mouth. “Though…dare I say this marriage is finally takin’ an upwards turn, hm?”

Giving her rider a curious look, Death Dance cocked her head slightly, as if asking what she meant.

“Don’t ya worry,” Thora told her, rubbing her nasal horn. “Enjoy the peace an’ quiet. Vanir above know it won’t last once the others get back.”

 

 

The two of them spent nearly three days on Herb Island. During the daylight hours, Death Dance wandered around on her own, sometimes coming across Thora, most of the time not. She amused herself by splashing around in the tidal pools as well as chasing the local boar herd around. At night, she met back up with Thora in the clearing where they shared dinner and Thora vented about how hard it was to find certain plants. The whole time, Death listened patiently, giving comforting nuzzles when it obvious her rider needed one.

On the third day, the weather began to change. A storm was coming; Thora and Death Dance could smell it in the air. As such, Thora spent only a few hours hunting in the early morning, Death staying close just in case the storm came faster than expected.

“I think we’re good,” Thora called out, shoving her entire satchel into the only empty saddlebag. The wind had picked up and the cloud were threateningly dark, but the rain had yet to fall. “Let’s head home, shall we?”

Death Dance snapped her jaws together in agreement. She brought her tail around, feeling Thora hurriedly climb up the bones until she was on her back. While she got situated, Death made her way out of the forest, needing more space to stretch out her wings and take flight.

Thora did her best to stay low to the dragon’s back, not wanting to be hit by any branches. Though her skin avoided getting hit, she let out curses of pain as her hair was frequently snatched and pulled by twigs.

‘It’s not her fault,’ she reminded herself. She felt one of the twigs snap off, remaining in her hair. ‘Ugh…I’m going to need a nice, long bath after this…’

A sigh of relief left her mouth when Death Dance finally entered an area open enough for her wings to open. Out of habit, she wrapped her tail around the vertebrae behind her saddle and leaned forward; otherwise, Death’s take off would painfully fling her forward, leaving her sore for a couple of days.

Not that she wasn’t already going to be sore. Digging up roots and whole plants for two days in combination with sleeping on hard ground had left her back aching something fierce.

‘I wish I had the foresight to bring that salve,’ she thought, sitting upright once Death had reached altitude. ‘I wouldn’t be able to apply it very well, but a little is better than none at all. I wonder if it’d still work if I added a bit of it to my bathwater?’ Her brow rose at the thought and she somewhat grinned. ‘It should -it’s oily after all. If bath oils work in water, I’m sure it could, too.’

She suddenly noticed that Death Dance was staring downwards. Frowning somewhat, she leaned over in the saddle, seeing two, large ships sailing beneath them. They were foreign to her eyes, having multiple decks as well as multiple masts. Their prows were covered by large, metal battering rams and their sterns had strange devices on them.

“I don’t like the look o’ those,” she murmured. “Fly a lil’ higher, Death Dance. We don’t want t’--!”

A curse flew from her mouth as one of the ships fired something up at them. Death quickly banked to the side, narrowly avoiding the hit. But the first shot had merely been a distraction. Death Dance howled in pain as a second something slammed into her right wing, forcing it upwards with a snap. It wrapped around slightly, hooking itself one of Death’s many bones.

“Deathy!” Thora yelped, seeing that what had been fired was an enormous hook and chain. Jumping from the saddle, she raced over to the hook. She yanked it free of the bone. With a grunt, she threw it over Death’s side, watching it plummet downwards.

Even though she was now freed of the chain, Death Dance was still struggling to stay in the air. The impact had broken her wing and flying was almost unbearably painful. Soaring was out of the question -she needed two good wings for that.

She glanced back at her rider, a look of guilt in her eyes as she whimpered in pain.

“Hold tight, girl,” Thora told her, kneeling down beside the injured wing. “Gods, please let me summon even just a _bit_ o’ magic…” Swallowing hard, she did her best to call forth any magic. None came, though. She bit her tongue, beginning to attempt to summon it from within herself—

A third hook-and-chain shot skywards. This time, it wrapped itself around Death Dance without injury. If it weren’t for her broken wing, she would have been able to pull herself free of it. As things were, however, she was helpless.

“Come on,” Thora whispered to herself. “Come on, Thora! Ya can do this! Death Dance needs ya!” She could feel the magic inside her wanting to come out, but the damned poison flowing through her blocked it. “Gods _damn it_! Let me use my fuckin’ magic!” she shouted. “Freyr! Freya! Odin! Any o’ ya! _Please_!”

Death Dance tried to stretch her wing out straight, tried to keep them airborne. But it was of no use. Moving her wing even the slightest bit send millions of fiery needles shooting through her wing.

Thora felt her jaw begin to shake at Death Dance’s desperate attempts to help and she swore once again. “I need t’ help Death Dance,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. Forcing her will against the will of the poison, she felt an ache overcome her entire body. “ _Get out o’ me_!” she shouted into the air. “Get out o’ me an’ help my dragon!”

For a split second, a blinding light filled her eyes.

But it was instantly extinguished as they hit water.

Through the flurry of bubbles and the salt stinging her eyes, Thora couldn’t tell which way was up. She hadn’t had time to take a breath of air before they had become submerged, leaving her lungs burning. Death Dance thrashed alongside her and she could hear the garbled yowls coming from the dragon.

After what seemed like forever, Thora was finally able to break the surface. She gasped for breath, her tail busy trying to shove the curtain of wet hair from her face. The ocean water still stinging her eyes, she looked around only to find Death Dance being dragged towards one of the ships.

“Let her go!” she shouted, beginning to swim after her dragon. It was a difficult task thanks to the churning waves and her single arm; she was left as an easy target for the second ship.

A net was thrown over her and she swore loudly, trying to rip herself free. The net, though, was made of chain too strong for her to break. She had no choice but to let herself be dragged aboard the ship. Once on deck, she was dropped unceremoniously onto the hard wood, still wrapped up by the net.

“Well, well…looks like we got ourselves one of those dragon riders!” A large, muscular man with very little hair stepped forward, smirking down at Thora. “A two for one deal, if yeh ask me. First, a Boneknapper, an’ now a rider?” He let out a dark laugh.

 “I demand ya release me an’ my dragon this instant,” Thora snapped. “Ya have no right-”

“Shut yer trap, wench,” the man ordered, his brow raised. Looking at his clothes, Thora noticed that they appeared to be made of dragon hide.

‘What kind of men are these?’ she thought, jaw clenched shut.

“Just who do yeh think yeh are to authority on _my_ ship?” he demanded, scowling down at her.

With her lips drawn back in a snarl, Thora managed to stand upright. The man’s eyes widened as he found that she not only towered above him, but was also not entirely human. “I am Lady Thora Gretasdotter, Princess o’ Enda Fjarðarins,” she growled, “an’ I _demand_ ya let me an’ my dragon go.” Now that she was standing, she was easily able to remove the net with her tail.

Despite his men having somewhat shrunk back in fear of this strange woman, the leader merely smirked. “A _three_ for one deal,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “A Boneknapper, a rider, _an’_ a royal half-troll wench? Little brother’s goin’ to be pleased about this.” He turned his back on Thora, motioning at his men. “Search her person for anything valuable an’ then lock her up in the brig. Take care t’ not get bitten, aye? Troll bites are _nasty_.”

Frowning, Thora watched as he headed for one of the upper decks. “I am _not_ goin’ t’ be your prisoner!” As two men approached her, grabbing her by the shoulders, she easily pulled free of them, elbowing one in the face.

She began wishing she hadn’t left her ax in Death’s saddlebags as more men lunged at her. Continuing to put up a fight, she was able to cause three bloodied noses and knock the wind out of one of the men before they were finally able to wrap a chain around her torso.

“When my husband finds me missin’, he’ll come lookin’ for me!” she shouted as they dragged her towards a hatch. “An’ _then_ you’ll be sorry!”

The leader turned, an amused look on his face as he watched her get taken below deck. “Only a deranged fool would marry a creature as hideous as yeh.”

At that, Thora smirked wickedly and he felt a shiver run down his spine. “Good thing he’s called Dagur the _Deranged_ then, isn’t it?”

The look of alarm on the man’s face was visible for barely a second before the hatch above her slammed shut.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and discussions n.n They really help motivate me to keep writing <3

It was late at night. Most of the crew was fast asleep, curled up around sheathed weapons in case of a surprise attack. Dagur, however, was wide awake. Perched atop the bowsprit, he stared off into the horizon.

Just a few days ago, he had found out that his sister was still alive. His sister who he thought he had doomed to a horrible death. She was alive, she had grown into a fantastic warrior, and she even had her own dragon!

The problem?

She hated him.

Not that he could blame her much: He had razed her village to the ground and had stolen everything valuable in order to get enough gold for his newly formed alliance. Ever since then, she had been attacking his ships without discretion. She left his men with terrible injuries while also stealing any piece of treasure or food they had on board.

More than once, the ships had returned to the fleet as funeral ships.

Still, it pained him to know he had unknowingly hurt his sister so badly. Maybe if he had paid better attention, he would have seen the resemblances between them? The shared, green eyes, the rounded jaws, the cocky smirk worn during battle…But, no. It had been _Hiccup_ who had figured out their relationship and it had all been because of a _drinking horn_.

Clenching his teeth, he tore his eyes from the horizon and instead looked into the dark waters below. The bleakness reminded him of how he had felt, watching his sister fly away from him with the rest of the dragon riders and the horrified disgust that had filled her face when Hiccup broke the news to her.

‘Why is _Hiccup_ the one who makes all the life-changing discoveries?’ he thought, his lip curling back in somewhat of a snarl. ‘Heather is _my_ sister! Why couldn’t I be the one to find this out? All this time, I thought she was dead…’

A heavy sigh left his mouth and he ran a hand through his hair. ‘And, of course, I made a complete ass of myself when we first met. I could have ransacked any village I wanted! Why did I have to sack _hers_?’

Shaking his head, he cursed under his breath. ‘You know damn well why, Dagur: Her village is - _was-_ the richest one within fifty miles. They had so much gold, it rivaled the one of those Christian churches in Britannia. But now…Now my sister wants my head on a platter.’ He closed his eyes for a moment.

‘And I think I’d gladly give it to her if it meant the chance to apologize to her.’

A cool breeze wafted by, sending a shiver through his body. Being only early spring, the nights were still cold -especially out at sea. But he didn’t care. The cold was oddly comforting to him at the moment.

“Freya, if you can hear me,” he murmured, breaking the night’s silence, “can you do me a little favor? As your chosen one?” His hand resting on the back of his neck, he looked skyward; the moon was only a sliver of silver among the stars. “I’d like to be able to apologize to Heather—I mean, I know she’ll never be able to forgive me. But…I am sorry. She’s…she’s all I got left, even if she does hate me. And I want to get to know her.”

A quiet, hopeless laugh left his mouth. “I doubt that’d ever happen, though. What I did to her was horrible. Not that I can go back and change it. I needed the gold. Otherwise, there would have been no deal with the Grimborn brothers.” He closed his eyes once more. “It’s a rotten excuse, but, at least, it’s a true one. I need this alliance for my revenge. The only way I’ll be able to outsmart and overpower Hiccup is with their help…”

“It’s pretty hard to outsmart that guy.”

His eyes shot open and he turned around, finding a hooded figure standing on the deck below. He couldn’t make out their features, but he recognized their voice -and their dragon, who was perched atop the mast.

But how did he not hear them?!

Dagur cautiously slid from the prow, landing on his toes. “Heather?”

She lowered her hood. In the dim moonlight, he was able to see that she was, in fact, his sister. “The one and only.” She looked tire and her eyes were somewhat red -had she been crying?

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away from her. “I suppose you’ve come to seek your revenge on me?” he sighed. “Now’s a good chance, to be honest. Most of my men are sleeping and the rest are clearly too inept to notice a dragon rider has boarded us.”

Crossing her arms, she cocked her hip, a smirk coming to her lips. It livened her features up a bit, making her seem less tired than a minute ago. “Why? Do you _want_ me to slit your throat?” she asked, her voice light and teasing. When Dagur said nothing in return, she let out a quiet sigh. “Truth be told, Dagur…I’ve done a lot of thinking since our last encounter.”

“Have you now?” he questioned, brow rising. “Should…I be worried about that?”

She chuckled. “No. Not unless everything I heard you say just now was a lie.” Reaching out with one hand, she hesitated before setting it on his shoulder. “Dagur, you’ve done horrible things to me and my family -the people who loved me and cared for me since I was a child. But now that I know you’re my brother? I know you’re the only one who can tell me about my blood-family. About our father and mother. About our people.”

A sigh left her mouth and she glanced away for a moment, biting her lower lip. “You’re right in thinking I can never forgive you for what you did,” she continued, voice quiet, “but…like you, I want to know my brother. I tracked you down tonight in hopes of—in hopes of joining your crew. If you’ll allow me, that is.”

Dagur stared at her, his jaw slack. Without thinking, he reached out with both arms and pulled her against him in a tight hug. Heather let out a small yelp of surprise, but after realizing he _wasn’t_ trying to crush her to death, she returned the hug.

A few minutes later, Dagur pulled back, wearing a smile. “There is _so_ much we need to talk about.”

She smiled back. “Yeah, there is. But…it’s late. Maybe we should continue our family reunion in the morning, once we’ve gotten some sleep?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah! You can sleep in my bed for now,” he told her. “And your dragon -er, Windsheet?”

“Windshear.”

“Windshear can sleep on deck. This ship isn’t big enough for dragons to go below decks.” He began leading her towards the hatch that led to the lower half of the ship. “Soon, though, I’ll have a ship big enough that she -Windshear _is_ female, right?- can follow you all over the place! And you’ll have your own cabin, of course.”

Her brow rose as she followed alongside her brother. “Why are you getting a new ship? Does it have anything to do with those Grimborn brothers you mentioned?”

“Them entirely,” he chuckled, using his foot to lift the hatch. “I’ll explain it better in the morning, alright? And have you eaten anything? We’ve got some leftover mutton stew if you are-”

“I’m fine,” she smiled. “Windshear and I had some fish before we came looking for you. Sleep is the only thing I really need at the moment.”

He nodded in understanding. “Makes sense. Anyway, like I said, you can sleep in my bed.” He opened a door, motioning for her to enter the cabin. It was lit by a single candle, its light barely enough to illuminate the footboard of the bed. “I’ll take the floor.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Are you…sure? I mean, it’s your cabin, after all, and I’m fairly used to sleeping on hard ground.”

“Nonsense!” he said, waving his hand before gently pushing her towards the bed. “It’s the least I can do for now.” He went over to the candle and picked it up, carrying it over to the bedside table so Heather had more light to work with. “And, in the morning, we’ll talk.” He let out a giddy giggle and excitedly clapped his hands together. “Oh gods, there’s _so_ much to talk about, I won’t know where to begin!”

A somewhat awkward smile came to Heather’s face as she watched him. “Don’t…don’t worry about it, alright?” she told him. “Let’s just focus on getting some sleep. We’ll worry about talking in the morning. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, that sounds great!” Still beaming, he grabbed one of the pillows from the bed as well as a blanket.

Biting her lower lip, Heather waited until Dagur was laying down in the corner of the room before slipping off her boots and bits of armor.

‘He seems genuinely excited,’ she thought, crawling under the covers. ‘I…I almost can’t tell if he’s being sincere about wanting to get to know me or not. But—I suppose he is sincere. He didn’t know Windshear and I were there and he was begging Freya for help.’

A soft sigh left her mouth as she blew out the candle.

‘Almost makes me feel bad for lying to him like this.’

 

“So, from what you’ve said, Viggo and Ryker Grimborn are dragon hunters?”

“Yep.”

“Who are looking for an artifact their people lost decades ago?”

“Mhm.”

“And they’ve agreed to an alliance with you because you’re enemies with Hiccup?”

“That’s right.”

Heather’s brow remained lifted as she watched Dagur shove a large spoonful of porridge and eggs into his mouth. “Dagur…you _are_ aware that I have a dragon, right? How do we now they won’t try to take Windshear from me?”

He swallowed his food before grinning cheekily at her. “You’re my _sister_ ,” he chirped. “They can’t touch you _or_ Windshear if they don’t want the wrath of the Berserkers coming down on them.” Shrugging, he reached out with his knife and stabbed a few, thick slices of bacon.

Poking at her own eggs, she sighed. “Are you sure? Because if anything were to happen to Windshear…I mean, she’s my best friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

The look of reassurance Dagur gave her was surprisingly sincere, despite the bits of porridge in his beard. “Heather, I won’t let them touch you _or_ Windshear,” he told her.

“Thank-you.”

“What’s family for?” he chuckled. Ripping off a bite of bacon, he pointed to her barely-touched food. “You not hungry? You’ve only taken like, two bites.”

An awkward smile came to her lips. “Ah…I am hungry, but…” She rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks turning the slightest bit pink. “I’m not really a fan of…of eggs cooked in this style.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Oh? I can have them remade if you’d like. How do you like them?”

“Oh, there’s no need!” she told him. “I mean, there’s plenty of porridge and bacon under the eggs…it’s just…getting to them without breaking the eggs.” She still wore the awkward smile. “I prefer my eggs scrambled. Something about the yolk just tastes disgusting to me otherwise.”

Dagur nodded in understanding. “I see. Well, I’ll make sure your eggs are scrambled from now on,” he told her. He then tossed her one of the serving spoons from his end of the table. “Here. Two spoons means the eggs have less chance of breaking all over your food.”

“Thanks.” As she carefully moved the eggs off her bowl, she let out a quiet sigh. “So…why did you want to join with the dragon hunters anyway? I remember Astrid mentioning something before about how you wanted a dragon of your own. A Skrill, I think she said it was? Doesn’t working with the dragon hunters mean you won’t get that chance?”

At that, Dagur laughed. “Oh, sister…Just you wait. When we meet up with Ryker again, you’ll see that they don’t necessarily _kill_ dragons,” he explained. “They put the dragons to work! They have mines with dragons excavating for them; they’ve got dragons acting as messengers for them; they’ve even got dragons trained to help them capture other dragons. It’s really quite efficient.”

“So…” Her brow rose somewhat. “They _don’t_ kill dragons, despite being dragon _hunters_?” Her breakfast now freed from the eggs, she began eating the porridge and bacon.

“Oh, they kill dragons,” he chuckled, “but most of them remain alive for trading. The ones they do kill, though, are usually the ones who are too small, too old, or too weak for use. So, they get skinned.”

She cringed. “Is…is anything done with the rest of the bodies?” she asked, hesitation in her voice.

He shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask Ryker when we meet up with him.”

After that, the pair was quiet for a long while. Heather wore a contemplative look as she ate while Dagur didn’t seem to have a care in the world as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

‘Dagur says he’ll protect me and Windshear,’ she thought, slowly chewing a bit of bacon. ‘But I’m not sure if I can trust him to do that -not yet, at least. He’s proven honest so far, but it’s only been a handful of hours.’ Spooning some porridge into her mouth, she thought back to how he had defended her against his own crew just a couple of hours ago.

Out of everyone, only one man had accepted her presence without question -Fylkir. Already, she could see why Dagur had made him second-in-command. It was obvious he was unfalteringly loyal and the crew respected him just as much -if not more- than they respected Dagur. It was he who managed to get the crew to calm down enough for Dagur to explain why she was there.

‘Savage, though?’ she thought. ‘He’s untrustworthy. I remember him from when Alvin blackmailed me into working for him. Savage is nothing more than a suck-up. He only cares about himself. That’s why he’s part of Dagur’s crew instead of the Outcasts now.’ Closing her eyes, she rested her arm on the table as she continued to eat. ‘Regardless, I know I can trust at least two people on this ship. Maybe, with time, I can earn the trust of everyone else. It’ll be hard, but…’

Opening her eyes somewhat, she watched Dagur. He was pouring himself some ale, humming quietly to himself.

‘If I can pretend to forgive him and accept him as my brother well enough, I’m sure his crew will grow at least a _little_ tolerant of my presence. The main thing I have to worry about is these dragon hunters…’ Letting her eyes fall shut again, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawned. ‘I knew there was some sort of fishy activity going on out here and now I know why. From the sounds of it, they won’t be terribly keen on someone having an actual bond with a dragon instead of using them as slaves-’

“Heather?”

Her eyes snapped open. Dagur was looking at her, a bit of worry in his eyes.

“You alright?” he asked.

She sat up right, smiling. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You got pretty quiet there for a while.”

“I’m just thinking about things,” she assured him. She then chuckled, pushing her mostly-empty bowl away from her. “There’s so much happening all at once, it’s hard to keep track of it all.”

Relief replaced his worry. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed with a small laugh. “Doesn’t help that I kind of overwhelmed you with information, either.” His eyes suddenly widened and he perked, an idea coming to him. “Oh, I know! How ‘bout instead of _me_ telling _you_ everything, we take turns asking each other questions?”

“That’s a fairly good idea!”

He grinned proudly. “Thora and I used it as a way to get to know each other. I figured it’d be a good way for us to get to know each other, too. You can go first.”

She cocked her head. “Thora…?” She had heard the name before, mentioned by the riders, but she wasn’t sure if it was the same person or not.

“My wife.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw fell somewhat slack. “You…you have a _wife_?”

At that, Dagur grinned. “Now, now: That’s two questions in a row. But, I’ll forgive you this time.” He took a drink of his ale before wiping his mouth on his bracer. “Yes, I have a wife. I’m not sure if you’ve seen her or not -she’s a Hairy Hooligan. Well, _half_ Hooligan. She’s half human, half troll.” A wistful sigh left his mouth; he was oblivious to the look of horror on Heather’s face. “I haven’t had the chance to see her or write her in the last couple of weeks. I wonder how she’s doing…?”

Heather stared at him. Her mouth moved as she tried to speak, but no words were said. Instead, for fear of saying the wrong thing, she shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth.

“Anyway!” Dagur continued, still oblivious. “My turn for a question.” He thoughtfully tapped his chin for a moment before grinned. “Ah, yes. This is a good one: How did you come by Windshear?”

She was both thankful and displeased by his choice of question. On the one hand, she’d get to once more remind him of the horrible things he had done to her and her family. On the other hand…it was a reminder to her of the horrible way she had lost her loved ones.

With a sigh, she reached over and grabbed the pitcher of ale. “Windshear found me in the ocean after you attacked my village,” she admitted. Dagur’s flinch was hard to miss. “It had been a few days since you had set me adrift in that boat, so I was pretty weak.” The ale created a bit of a foamy head as it filled the wooden cup.

“I honestly don’t know why she did it, but she picked me up in her claws and carried me off to her roost. Once there, she brought me food -or, at least, what _she_ called food. Squirrels, rabbits, fish…” A soft laugh left her mouth. “She basically turned into a mother hen towards me.” She fell silent, taking a drink of the ale.

“Well, from what I’ve witnessed, the two of you make an amazing team. You don’t even need to tell her commands; she just _does_ them!” He snorted. “ _Hiccup_ doesn’t have that strong of a bond with his Night Fury.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, unaware that the foam from her ale had left a bit of a mustache on her upper lip. “To be fair, their bond is just as strong, if not stronger. Toothless and Hiccup have known each other a lot long than Windshear and I have. I’m sure Hiccup doesn’t need to call out commands, but does it more as a courtesy to the other riders.” Taking another drink of ale, she leaned back in her seat. “Why do you hate Hiccup and the riders so much? I could never figure that out.”

Dagur let out a heavy sigh, anger and sorrow coming to his features. “Because Hiccup betrayed me.”

Saying nothing, she gave him a confused look.

“I was made chieftain of our people at a fairly young age,” he began, “and, as such, it was my duty to attend the treaty signing with the other tribes. Well, while off on some of these signings, I had heard that the Hairy Hooligans had learned how to tame dragons and were using them as weapons.

“So, naturally, I was cautious when it came time to sign the treaty with them. Alright, maybe not entirely cautious -I let it slip that I had heard they were amassing a dragon army.” He paused for a moment, taking a sip of his ale. “By all appearances, they weren’t. In fact, for the most part, there were no dragons to be found. Hiccup, his father, and Thora had continuously reassured me that dragons weren’t to be found on Berk.”

He leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the table as he rested his hands on the back of his head. “Turns out, it was all a ruse. But I didn’t find out until some weeks _after_ the treaty signing. How did I find out?” His brows furrowed and he scowled at the memory. “By watching as Hiccup, who I had declared to be my _brother_ , jumping on the back of a Night Fury and letting it fire at me!”

Dagur suddenly lurched forward, grabbing his eating knife and stabbing it into the table. “He had told me he was hunting the dragon for its head! But, when we had finally cornered the beast, he makes a fool out of me!”

‘It’s not hard to do,’ Heather found herself thinking. ‘You do a fairly good job of it yourself…’

Shaking his head, Dagur dislodged the knife from the table. Heather was almost certain he was going to stab something else with it, but he surprised her by beginning to clean it instead. “That night, the war between the Berserkers and the Hairy Hooligans started.”

“A war that you lost,” she quietly stated. She flinched back as he suddenly pointed the knife at her.

“A war that was _put on hold!_ ” he corrected through clenched teeth. “A war Hiccup could have avoided if he and his annoying father had just told me the truth. But no. They lied to my face.” He quietly growled, his eyes closing as he leaned back in his seat. “They could have told me from the beginning that they were training dragons -not for war, but for domestic help. But they didn’t.

“But!” He suddenly smirked. Combined with the look of crazed anger in his eyes, Dagur looked ready for the kill. Heather began fearing for her life and, subtly, she reached for her own eating knife. “Now that I’m out of that disgustingly dank and dirty jail, I can renew my hunt for revenge!” A wicked laugh left his mouth as he shoved the knife in its sheath. “And now, with my sister by my side-”

Before he could finish, the door to the galley opened and Fylkir came in, holding a squirming Terrible Terror. “Sire, Branch Hopper’s returned with Ryker’s reply,” he said, offering the dragon to Dagur.

His entire demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. No longer cackling maniacally or wearing a look of bloodlust, Dagur took the Terror and snuggled it as if it were a puppy. “Ah! Who’s a good lil’ Terrible Terror?” he cooed, scratching its belly.

The dragon made noises -whether of joy or of irritation, Heather wasn’t quite sure.

Fylkir glanced at Heather, seeing the look of confusion on her face. “We use this Terrible Terror as a messenger between us, Ryker Grimborn, and Lady Thora,” he explained. “Mostly, between Lady Thora and Dagur, but recently, she’s learned to fly other places as well.”

“Interesting,” she murmured, head tilted somewhat. “Can all Terrors do that?”

He shrugged. “To be honest, Lady Heather, I don’t have a clue. Lady Thora sent this one to Dagur nearly two months ago. Branch Hopper is the only dragon who’s ever been cooperative for us.”

“Well, if I had had _time,_ I would have been able to train that Skrill,” Dagur grumbled. “But _no_. A certain _brother_ of mine decided to let it loose.” He used a bit more force than was necessary to break the wax seal on the letter before letting out a sigh. “Let’s see what ol’ Ryker has to say, shall we…? Oh, By the way, Fylkir? Can you tell Gunnar to prepare Heather’s eggs as scrambled from now on?”

He nodded. “Yes, sire. Is there anything else you’d like done?” He watched as Dagur’s eyes trailed along the parchment, reading over Ryker’s words.

“Yeah…” he murmured, his voice a bit distant. “Bring the ship around and set a course for the usual meeting spot. Ryker says my new ship is ready and that he has something else I may find interesting.”

“How so, sire?”

“He doesn’t say. Just that he has something that may be of interest and value to me.” He shrugged, rolling the letter up and tucking it into his belt. “Oh well! We’ll see when we get there, won’t we?” He smiled across the table at Heather as he pushed his chair back and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, sister, I’ve got my morning laps to run around the deck. If you want, you can join me, but I’m sure you’d rather check on Windshear.”

She nodded. “Y-yeah, that’d be nice,” she told him. “Where is she being kept, again?”

“I’ll show you, milady,” Fylkir told her, stepping aside so Dagur could leave the room. “She’s being kept by the rudder.”

“Alright. Thank you.” Rising from her own seat, she took a final gulp of ale and followed the man up to the deck. Having beaten them to the outside, Dagur was jogging his way around the outer rim of the deck, hoping over or ducking beneath any obstacles that were in his way. “Does he…always do this?” she asked.

“Aye,” he answered. “It’s something he started doing when he first started sailing. He claims it helps to get his land-legs quicker when we come ashore.”

She nodded in understanding. “I see…” Looking up at the man, she nervously rubbed her arm; somehow, he seemed more intimidating than Dagur, yet he looked far kinder. “How, er, long have you know my brother, exactly?”

Fylkir glanced down at her, a bit of a smile on his lips. “Since he was a wee lad,” he answered. “I was one of Oswald’s slaves when he was still Oswald the antagonistic,” he explained, “but when he decided to become Oswald the Agreeable, he freed me and had me trained to be a bodyguard for Dagur. As you can see, though…He doesn’t really need one anymore.”

“So you became his second in command instead?” They came to the back of the ship, where Windshear was curled up, her head resting on her paws. “Hey there, girl. Are they treating you well?”

The dragon lifted her head and gently nuzzled her human. A soft, pleased purr left her throat.

“Good to hear.”

Fylkir watched the two of them curiously; he had never seen a dragon be so gentle towards a human. Branch Hopper being the exception, of course. “Aye, I became his second-in-command,” he finally answered. “I’ll admit it’s not an easy job sometimes an’ I don’t always agree with what Dagur comes up with, but _someone’s_ got to watch over him.”

At that, Heather glanced over her shoulder at him, confused. “Wait, you _don’t_ always agree with him? But…isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

He let out a laugh -the first genuinely _pleasant_ laugh she had heard all day. “I’m second-in-command, not an ass kisser,” he grinned. “It’s my job to keep Dagur in check. When he wants to do something too risky, I try to bring him back down to Midgard and make him see reason.”

She nodded in understanding, turning around fully now. She managed an awkward smile as Dagur jogged past, an enthusiastic grin on his face as he waved at the two of them.

“It’ll be awhile before you get used to him,” Fylkir said once Dagur was out of earshot. “For the most part, Dagur…is an alright guy. I know his actions in the past haven’t made it seem so, but when you’re around him during his calm moments, he’s actually fairly nice to be around. It’s when he gets upset that you got to tread lightly.”

Heather glanced up at him. “Why’re you telling me this?”

“Because.” He looked down at her. “He’s your brother. You have a right to know the good as well as the bad about him. The rest of the crew will tiptoe around it because they’re still unsure of you and don’t know what you’ll tell him, but I will tell you outright. He can be dangerous, but he won’t harm those he considers loved ones and friends.”

She nodded slowly, taking in his words. “I see,” she murmured. “Well, thank you. Really. I’m glad to know he’s not always a raving lunatic.”

At that, Fylkir frowned, his brow rising. “I will give you one warning though.”

“But you just gave-”

Fylkir moved, standing in front of her and blocking her from view of the rest of the crew. Windshear growled protectively, but when the human made no attempt to harm her rider, she remained seated.

“I consider Dagur my best friend,” he told Heather, voice low, “and that’s why I’ve accepted you without question. However, _don’t_ take that as trust. You’ve attacked and killed plenty of men who I’ve fought and trained alongside in return for us attacking your village. Your anger is understandable, but if you were to hurt Dagur in any fashion, I _will_ make you regret it.”

Heather swallowed hard, unconsciously taking a step back. ‘Can he see through this act?’ she thought, heart racing. ‘Does he know that I’m planning to avenge my family?’

Fylkir suddenly patted her on the shoulder. “So far, however,” he told her, all threat gone from his voice, “I’ve seen no reason to worry.”

She managed a small smile, silently thanking the gods for being on her side. “Good…because I’m not about to give you a reason.”

“Good.” He glanced over his shoulder as Savage called out to him.

“Oi! Fylkir, ain’t she a bit young for your tastes?” he sneered from his spot in the rigging.

An irritated look came to Fylkir’s face. “I hate that man,” he murmured before turning around. “If she has anyone to worry about flirting with her, it’d be you, Savage,” he snapped. “Now get back to work or we’ll use that sharp tongue of yours t’ scrape the barnacles off the hull!”

Heather couldn’t help but snicker as Savage pouted and went back to climbing the rigging. “I take it he’s not a popular guy here either?”

He sighed. “He’s one rank below me, but only because of how he assisted Dagur during our occupation of Outcast Island.” Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes. “I’ve been tempted to throw him overboard more than one, but Dagur keeps him around as a way to relieve his anger…”

“Ah…How so?” Her voice betrayed the uncertainty she felt asking the question.

A humorous smile came to Fylkir’s lips. “ _Dagur’s_ the one who gets to throw him overboard whenever he pleases.”


	36. 36

“Is—Is _that_ Ryker’s ship?”

“You mean, ‘Is that _my_ ship?’ Why yes, sister, it is!”

Heather’s eyes were wide as she stared out at the massive ship before them. It was so large, it needed a second, smaller ship attached to its hull to help keep it stabilized while sailing. Instead of a regular prow, there were two, enormous battering rams made of metal jutting out into the ocean. To counterbalance the battering rams’ weight, the stern of the ship had two huge structures made of wood and spiked metal; she thought they resembled the twin tails of a Hideous Zippleback.

“Dagur…that ship alone could carry an entire village with room to spare,” she gawked.

Beside her, Dagur wore an enormously greedy grin. “I know!” he cackled. “Isn’t it great? And it gets even better! You see all that metal on it?”

She nodded.

“It’s _dragon proof_.”

Her brows furrowed and she looked over at him. “What? But it looks like oxidized copper to me. How can it be _dragon_ proof?”

He shrugged. “To be honest, I couldn’t tell you. I’m guessing it’s some sort of combination of Gronckle iron with other metals. You can try asking Ryker when we get on board.”

She nodded slowly, but still remained unconvinced that the metal was _dragon_ proof. She had seen dragon fire rip through trees, tear through earth, and cut through even the strongest of metals like butter. How could this be any different?

“Just think, sister,” Dagur spoke, setting his hand on her shoulder. “With that ship under our command, we’ll be able to bring back the honor Hiccup and the dragon riders stole from our people!” He still wore a look of excited greed, but there was a strange look of hopefulness in his eyes as well. “And think of all the dragons we’ll be able to capture with the machines on that ship! Windshear being the exception, of course. I’ll make sure she flies free forever.”

She frowned once more. “Wait, we’re going to be _capturing_ dragons?”

He nodded with a shrug. “It’s part of the way the Grimborns are making me pay them back,” he explained. “I capture a couple dozen dragons for them to sell, take out any possible enemies that may come up along the way, and then I’m free to take this ship back to Berserk. It’s a pretty good deal, you got to admit.” He chuckled, patting her shoulder. “But don’t worry! Like I said, I’ll make sure Windshear flies free.”

“I take it you plan on capturing the dragon riders of Berk?”

“Of course,” he said, a sinister sounding giggle leaving his mouth. “How else am I supposed to get my revenge?”

Doing her best to remain seemingly only partially interested, she shrugged and looked back out at the other ship. It was getting bigger with each passing minute. “True. I just thought you’d be seeking it out against Hiccup and Hiccup only -since you said he and Stoick are the offending Hooligans, after all.”

“I can see why you would think that,” he agreed, “but they all had a hand in lying to me. Hiccup, though, will certainly get the slowest, most painful revenge.” He then somewhat frowned. “Well, alright. Not so much _painful_ as it will be humiliating.”

“Why is that?”

“Thora would kill me.”

“Your wife?”

He nodded. “She and Hiccup are related somehow. Cousins, I think? Though I’m not entirely sure it’s by blood.” He shrugged. “They do say that the bond between friends can be thicker than the blood that binds a family…”

Heather glanced up at Dagur in time to be pulled against him in a tight hug.

“But that’s not true for you and me!” he laughed. “The blood that binds us is stronger than even the strongest of metals! Isn’t that right, sister?”

She let out a sound that Dagur -thankfully- mistook as an agreeing laugh. “Should we, uh, gather our things, _brother_?” she wheezed, hoping he’d release her. “Don’t want to arrive unprepared, after all.”

Dagur suddenly let go of her, a serious expression on his face. “You are absolutely right,” he told her. “We can’t just show up unarmed and looking like we’re helpless babes to such a magnificent ship!” He slammed his fist into his palm, looking determined. “We need to look intimidating and worthy of sailing on such a vessel! I need to go find my biggest ax.”

Before Heather could say another word, Dagur hurried away and disappeared down the hatch leading below decks. Shaking her head, she sighed and looked back out at the ship. By now, it made their ship look like no bigger than a rowboat.

‘These next few weeks -or even months- are going to really put my acting skills to the test,’ she thought, her eyes narrowing somewhat. ‘Now I have more than just Dagur and his crew to fool, but these Grimborn brothers and _their_ men as well.’

She glanced over her shoulder towards the stern of the ship. Windshear was sitting near the rudder, her head shoved into a barrel that had once been overfilled with fish. ‘First and foremost, though, is guaranteeing mine and Windshear’s safety. I can’t do this without her.’

Turning her back on the massive ship, she went over to her dragon. Hearing her rider approach, Windshear pulled her head from the barrel and made a soft noise at Heather. She was unaware of the scales, bits of fish, and small bones covering her scales but the sight managed to make Heather laugh.

“You are _such_ a messy eater,” she quietly told the Razorwhip. She stuck her tongue out as Windshear attempted to nuzzle her with her dirty snout, but she was able to dodge. “Ew, Windshear! You know I don’t like it when you cover me in fish guts.”

Windshear laughed, the sound oddly metallic. Dipping her head back into the barrel, she snatched up the last of her meal before standing up and walking over to the edge of the ship. She craned her long neck over the rail, dunking her entire head into the ocean. With a small bit of shaking, she was able to clean her face of any and all fish particles.

“That’s better,” Heather chuckled, now allowed her dragon to nuzzle her. “You have to be clean, anyway. We’re about to meet some very important -and _dangerous_ \- people.”

At that, Windshear narrowed her eyes. She growled quietly, turning her head to stare at the new ship.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” she quietly promised her. With a quiet sigh, she rested her head against the side of Windshear’s neck. “If they so much as even try to lay a _finger_ on you, I’ll cut their hands off. Do you understand? I’ll keep you _safe_.”

Heather was unaware that she was being watched. Just a few yards away stood Dagur, a look of concern on his face as he watched his sister. Thanks to being out in the open ocean, he had been able to hear every word she spoke to Windshear.

‘She really cares for that dragon,’ he thought, frowning ever so slightly. ‘Their bond reminds me of that between Brother Hiccup and the Night Fury. Only…there’s something different about their relationship. Does it have anything to do with how they met? Or maybe it’s because Windshear doesn’t _need_ Heather in order to fly. They can both be independent of one another while Brother Hiccup.’

Lightly shaking his head, he let out a sigh and walked over to the pair. “Hey, sis,” he chirped, putting on a smile. “Brought you your ax! Thought you’d like to keep it on hand when we meet up with Ryker.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Dagur,” she replied, taking it from him. “So…it’s just Ryker I’ll be meeting today? Not Viggo?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Viggo’s not much of a man of action. He prefers to hang back and let ol’ Rykie do all of the hard work while he handles negotiations, inventory -that sort of thing, y’know?”

“So, essentially, Viggo is the brains and Ryker is the brawn?”

“Exactly!” he laughed. He then grinned cockily. “It’s a shame it has to be split between the two of them, isn’t it? Meanwhile, you and me have the brains _and_ the brawn!” He laughed again, putting his hands on his hips. “Why, they best be lucky we’re their allies and not their enemies!”

She chuckled. “Yeah. Otherwise, they’d be totally screwed,” she said, also wearing a boastful smile. “After all, two brains are better than one.”

“That’s the spirit!” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, starting to lead her towards the prow of the ship once more. “Come along, Windshear! You’re a part of this important occasion as well, don’t you know!”

Blinking, Windshear cocked her head before following after the two of them. She wasn’t quite sure what was taking place or the significance of it, but she knew whatever it was meant good things - _hopefully_ \- were coming to her rider.

Heather bit her lower lip, her stomach beginning to churn in anticipation. Their ship was brought round so that it floated parallel to the massive hunter ship and the sail was drawn up to slow its drifting. Men called out to one another and ropes were tossed down to their vessel so that it could be anchored to the larger ship for the time being.

A man stepped up to the railing, his bald head glinting in the midday sunlight. “I’m surprised you got here so fast, Dagur.”

Dagur grinned proudly. “It seems the gods have been favoring me lately,” he called back, “and so they granted us a speedy trip!” He could just barely see Ryker’s eyes fall onto his sister. The proud look remaining on his features, he wrapped his arm around Heather’s shoulder’s once more. “Speaking of the gods favoring me…I’d like you to meet my _sister_! Heather the Unhinged!”

Windshear poked her head between them, making an almost pout-like noise.

“And this is her dragon, Windshear! I think they’ll be _amazing_ assets to us!” he continued. “Though, I suppose it’ll be better for us to talk once we’re all up on the deck of that beautiful ship, eh? Don’t want to wear out our voices shouting back and forth.”

With a nod, Ryker stepped back. “Send down the ladder,” he called.

Heather turned to Windshear. “I want you to stay down here, girl,” she quietly ordered, “just in case something goes wrong. I want you to be able to fly free, alright?”

“ _Nothing’s_ going to go wrong,” Dagur assured her. “But, I don’t blame you for wanting to take precautions.” He looked at the Razorwhip. “I’m not your rider, so I can’t tell you what to do,” he told her, “but it is a good idea for you to maybe stay down here -at least for a little while, alright?”

Nodding, Windshear pressed her snout against Heather’s forehead.

“I’ll give you a signal when it’s safe,” Heather promised. “For now, just stay low.” She then turned to Dagur as the dragon walked off. “You should go up first,” she told him as the rope ladder was tossed down to them. “You are the chief, after all.” The tone of her voice betrayed the nervousness she felt and she mentally cursed herself for sounding weak.

Dagur set both hands on her shoulders, gently forcing her to look him in the eye. “Hey,” he told her, voice soft, “it’s going to be fine. I’ve already established a partnership with these guys, remember? They _need_ me and they’re not about to toss me to the side in favor of stealing my sister and her dragon. Alright?”

Heather didn’t know why, but the look of compassion and understanding on Dagur’s face made her felt reassured…and guilty. He was truly believing her act. She slowly nodded. “Yeah…Yeah, everything’s going to be fine.”

Smiling, Dagur gently pressed his forehead against hers before pulling back. “Now, come on. We’ve kept them waiting long enough.” He reached out and grabbed the ladder, beginning to climb it. When he was halfway up, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Heather was following him and he grinned when he saw that she was.

“Bring it on deck,” he heard Ryker order as he reached the top of the ladder. For a split second, he wondered what ‘it’ was, but the thought quickly left his mind. Jumping over the rail, he reached down and helped Heather the rest of the way up.

He then looked around, letting out a pleased sigh as he took in the sights of the various deck levels and the weapons that lined them. “Isn’t she gorgeous?” he crooned. “Look at all of these ballistae and crossbows and nets! With this, we’ll have those dragon riders right in the palm of our hands! Ooh!” A shiver visibly coursed through him. “And to think, this is all _ours_ , dear sister!”

“It’s not yours _yet_ ,” Ryker corrected, his thumbs hooked into the top of his belt. “It’ll _become_ yours once you fulfill your end o’ our agreement.”

Dagur waved his hand indifferently at him. “For all intents and purposes, though, we’ll call it _mine_ ,” he chirped, still looking around with wide-eyed wonder.

Heather, though, remained silent. The only thing she was looking over was Ryker and she wasn’t quite fond of what she saw. ‘Dragon hide clothes, an infant dragon skull for a belt buckle, and arms thicker than my waist. This is _not_ the sort of man that should be messed with.’ She swallowed hard, but kept her jaw set proudly, when she noticed Ryker eyeing her suspiciously.

“You never told me you had a sister,” Ryker stated, crossing his large arms. “Why bring her up now?”

“Because, after she was so _cruelly_ taken from my family in her youth, we only recently found each other,” Dagur explained. He smiled cheekily. “Isn’t this great, though? Now you get _two_ Berserker leaders to help you bring down the dragon riders for the price of one!”

“And yet, _she_ rides a dragon.”

“Just because I ride a dragon doesn’t mean I’m in league with those _other_ riders,” Heather replied, her voice cool and surprisingly bold. “I once called them friends, yes, but that’s no more. There’s bad blood between us now and I intend to see that blood oozing from their throats.”

Ryker’s brow rose, though his face showed no emotion. “Alright then,” he replied, voice just as stoic as his expression. “Then I suppose we can find _some_ use for a dragon rider o’ our own. I’m sure Viggo will be pleased by this news.” He turned as one of his men called out from a doorway.

Dagur, however, gawked at her. “Wow…I had no idea you felt _that_ strongly about them!” he chuckled. “This is _great_! We can _both_ get our revenge!”

“Don’t think that’ll make things easier,” she told him, voice quiet as she listened to Ryker and the hunter speak. There was something being unruly below decks. “Hiccup and the riders are notoriously crafty and intelligent. We both know this. It’ll be a challenge to bring them down, even with the two of us putting our brains together.”

Dagur proudly puffed his chest out. “Well, I just so happen to be just as-”

“I hate to interrupt,” Ryker suddenly said, “but there’s something I need to show you, Dagur, and it’s refusin’ to come quietly.”

Eyes widening, Dagur perked. “Oh? What is it?” he questioned ecstatically. “Did Viggo send a Skrill to welcome me into this partnership? Or maybe a boar so that we can feast upon it in celebration?”

Ryker’s brow rose once more, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. “Nothing so exciting as either of those,” he told him, voice bland. “You’ll see once we get down there.” Turning his back on them, he led the Berserker siblings through the door and down a couple sets of stairs. Leading them to the middle deck of the ship, which was fashioned to be a sort of jail. It was filled with large cells made of the same, dragon-proof metal that covered the battering rams up top and all were empty.

Except one.

Sitting on a makeshift bed behind tarnished bars was a woman. With a long, cow-like tail and a pair of tusks protruding from her lower jaw, Heather instantly knew she wasn’t fully human. Before she could say anything though, Dagur gasped in horror and darted forward; inside the cell, the woman looked up in surprise before also hurrying for the bars.

“Dagur! Thank the gods!” she cried, reaching through the bars to cling onto him.

“Thora!? What in Midgard are you doing down here!? Where’s Death Dance? Where are the other riders?” He pulled back ever so slightly, having to reach up in order to cup his face in his hands.

Lifting her own hand -her _only_ hand, Heather saw- she rested it atop Dagur’s. “Death an’ I were attacked when we were on our way home from herb huntin’,” she explained. Glancing past Dagur, she glared at Ryker. “ _That_ man had his crew shoot us down. I don’t know where Death is now, only that she’s got a badly broken wing.” She gave his hand a small squeeze. “I _told_ Ryker that I was your wife, but he refused t’ believe me.”

Turning, Dagur looked at Ryker, giving him a chance to speak for himself.

“You can’t blame me,” Ryker said, tone defensively. “She could have been any ol’ wench who knew your name. But, as even _she_ would tell you, me and the crew have been treating her with the utmost respect befittin’ a woman of her status.”

Dagur glanced back at Thora, who nodded. “He may not have believed that I was your wife, but he _did_ believe me when I told him tha’ I was a Gretasdotter.”

“Gretasdotter?” Heather repeated. “I’ve never heard that name before…”

“Greta the Great,” Ryker, Dagur, and Thora answered in unison.

“This wench here is her daughter,” Ryker continued, speaking before Thora could explain further.

“This _wench_ is also my _wife_ ,” Dagur said through clenched teeth. “And I demand you release her right this moment!”

Ryker cocked a brow, looking down at him as if he were crazy. “And risk her escaping?” he asked, tone dry. “That’s _not_ going to happen.”

It was Dagur’s turn to lift a brow. “You really expect me to let you keep my _wife_ -my _queen_ \- behind bars as a prisoner?” he retorted. “Not to mention, she has no idea where her dragon is. Isn’t it a little obvious she’s too big to ride my sister’s dragon?” He quickly turned around, wearing an apologetic expression as he looked up at Thora. “No offense meant, of course, my love,” he told her. “You’re just…really tall and Windshear’s… _not_.”

Shaking his head, Ryker let out a sigh. “Give me one good reason why I should let her free, even though she’s not about t’ escape. She’s given my men enough trouble _behind_ bars. Why should I trust her _outside_ them?”

Heather watched as Dagur glanced between Ryker and Thora a couple of times. Once more, he gave Thora a look of apology.

“She’s a healer,” he told Ryker. “She probably kept that tidbit of information from you?” Ryker nodded. “Figures. You did shoot her out of the sky and injured her dragon, after all. If _I_ were a healer, I’d be loath to help you after that, too.” He shrugged, looking away boredly. “As it stands, however…”

Ryker narrowed his eyes and walked up to the cell door. He looked up at Thora, his jaw set in a frown. “Is he speakin’ the truth? Are you actually a healer?” he demanded.

“If ya had searched my bag, ya would have seen that I am,” she replied, voice cold as ice. “But, aye. I am a healer.”

His eyes remained narrowed for a moment as he thought over everything he had just heard. “If you agree to heal my men,” he began, speaking slowly as if she were dumb, “I’ll let you wander the ship an’ even stay in Dagur’s cabin.”

Thora crossed her arm over her chest. “I’ll agree t’ that,” she replied.

Pulling a ring of keys from his belt, Ryker began to unlock the door. “I warn you, though: This is _not_ me lettin’ you go free. You’re still my prisoner until Viggo tells me otherwise.”

“Understood,” she grumbled.

Yanking open the door with more force than what was probably needed, Ryker turned his back on Thora and began walking towards the stairs. Thora ducked out of the cell before going over to Dagur and hugging him tightly.

Heather glanced at them before turning around, watching Ryker’s retreating back. “Ryker?”

He paused, barely glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Is Windshear supposed to stay down here?”

“Aye. But don’t worry. If you give us no reason t’ distrust you, we’ll give _you_ no reason to distrust us and she’ll be allowed to come and go from her spot as she pleases. Sound fair?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded slightly before continuing on his way.

Turning back around, she found Thora resting her forehead against Dagur’s. Heather suddenly felt quite awkward; rubbing her arm, she glanced away and half-heartedly cleared her throat.

“So, uh…Dagur, are you going to introduce me to your wife?” she asked, forcing a small laugh.

Dagur blinked, having almost entirely forgotten his sister was there. “Right! Right. Proper introductions are needed.” He stepped back, holding his hand out to Heather. “Thora, this is my long-lost sister, Heather.”

Thora’s eyes widened. “Wait…your _sister_?” she gawked.

He nodded, a broad grin coming to his lips. “I know! Amazing, isn’t it? All this time, I thought she was dead! But she’s alive and better than I could have ever imagined!” he laughed. Pulling Heather over, he gave her a big hug. “And now my lil’ sis and I can go into battle like the Berserker chieftains we’re meant to be!” He let out a wild laugh followed by a howl.

Thora winced at the volume, but managed a smile. “That’s great!” she said. “Though, er, if ya don’t mind me askin’, Heather: Are ya the same Heather who had been blackmailed into workin’ for Alvin some years ago?”

She nodded. “I am. And, judging by your name and the fact you’re a healer, you must be the one spoken of by Ruffnut and Tuffnut?” She held out her hand.

Thora took and shook it. “I hope they only told ya good stuff,” she chuckled.

“Don’t worry. They were raving about your healing skills and your magic. Though…” She rubbed the back of her neck, frowning slightly. “The last time I saw them, they seemed worried because you weren’t on the island. I take it this is why?”

A sigh left Thora’s mouth. “Aye…I’ve been stuck here for a few weeks at the very _least_.” She cursed and rested her forehead in her palm. “Gods, the twins an’ Hiccup must be worried sick about me…”

Heather gave her an apologetic smile. “They are, but I’m afraid they’ve got bigger things to worry about at the moment,” she told her. “Things like-”

“Like the revenge Heather and I will get on them for betraying us!” Dagur cackled, throwing his arm around Heather’s shoulders. “Now that we have a powerful ship and an even more powerful armada under our control, those dragon riders will be all-too easy to—” He suddenly broke off with a nervous chuckle.

Thora did not seem at all pleased by his words.

“Of course, I don’t plan on _killing_ them!” he quickly added with an incredible nervous giggle. “I just want Hiccup as my slave and that Night Fury as _my_ dragon.”

“We’ve been over this, Dagur,” Thora told him, brow slowly rising. “No discussin’ your evil plans involvin’ my _friends and family_ around me.”

He pouted, but nodded in understanding. “I remember,” he murmured, his tone guilty. “I just…got a little excited since I’ve got my lil’ sis back!” He smiled innocently as he shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“No.” Leaning down, she kissed his forehead. “Change o’ subject. Let’s go up on deck, aye? I haven’t seen sunlight or had fresh air in _weeks_.”

“Good idea,” Heather agreed before Dagur could try and dissuade them. “I need to check on Windshear anyway. _And_ we can also find out where we’ll be staying. Maybe even get a proper tour of the ship.”

Dagur nodded, though he seemed a bit crestfallen from the scolding still. “Yeah, that’s a smart thing to do,” he said. Slipping his arm around Thora’s waist, he started to lead them towards the stairs.

Heather followed after them, noticing when Thora rolled her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. ‘For being his wife, she doesn’t seem as in-love with him as she should,’ she thought. ‘Then again, Dagur did mention something about this being an arranged marriage? But he’s most definitely in-love with her…Hm. Maybe it’s something I’ll be able to talk with her about later. After all, we’re the only two women on the ship. I have the feeling we’ll be doing some talking in the coming weeks…’

 

~*~*~

 

“Gods, you have _no_ idea how much I’ve missed you these last few weeks…”

Thora let out a quiet, breathless laugh as Dagur kissed his way along her throat. “I think I’ve got a fairly good idea now,” she replied, letting her fingers toy with his hair. She gently tilted his head back, kissing him deeply.

Grinning against her lips, Dagur snaked his arms around her bare form, holding her close against him. “I can show you all night if need be,” he purred.

She rolled her eyes, but still wore a smile. “Three times is enough for now,” she chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. Letting her head rest against the pillows, she let out a sigh. “I’m still thankin’ the gods that ya showed up when ya did,” she admitted, fingers still playing with his hair.

“…I am too,” he agreed, nestling his head under her chin. “You never did tell me why Ryker’s holding you prisoner though -aside from the obvious dragon rider thing.” He felt her tail grab the blanket and pull it up over them.

“Because dragon hunters have dealings with veiðimenn.”

“Veiðimenn?” he repeated, glancing up at her.

“Troll hunters. Or, rather, non-human hunters. I’m not sure o’ the exact translation.” She didn’t quite know why, but feeling Dagur’s body atop hers made her feel safe and at ease. ‘It’s probably because I’ve been locked up for so long,’ she thought. ‘…But his warmth is enjoyable. And his chest hair tickles…’ A hint of a smile turned the corners of her mouth upwards. “Veiðimenn hunt non-humans like trolls, dwarves, elves, satyrs, et cetera because we go against their beliefs an’ because they’re scared o’ us.”

He frowned. “Their…beliefs?”

She nodded. “Aye. Most Veiðimenn are Christians an’, accordin’ t’ their god, we’re unholy abominations tha’ were created by someone called Lucifer…? I’m not entirely sure, t’ be honest. Ormr explained it t’ me a few years ago, but Sindri interrupted that lesson.”

Dagur closed his eyes as he felt Thora’s hand slide down the back of his neck to rest on the back of his neck. “That’s…not good.”

“No. Many o’ them fled north, where they could find safety from the veiðimenn.” A long sigh left her mouth. “But they’ve been getting bolder these past few years.” She shivered as Dagur gently touched her scarred shoulder.

“And you’re sure the dragon hunters have dealings with them?”

She nodded. “They have a mutually beneficial relationship. The dragon hunters give the veiðimenn dragon parts t’ use against the non-humans an’ vice versa.”

“Well, I’m not about to let you be traded off for some gold or whatever. You’re my wife and I vowed to protect you.” He gave her a gentle kiss, feeling her tail wrap around his waist. “I know I’m doing a bad job of it right now, but-” He suddenly fell silent as Thora pressed her finger against his lips.

She held his face in her palm. “Ya got me out o’ that cell, didn’t you?” she murmured. “Ya managed t’ threaten Ryker enough t’ let me roam the ship as I please, didn’t ya? I’d say that’s protectin’ me. Aye, it’s different from bein’ in the heat o’ battle, but I was beginnin’ t’ go stir crazy in that cell.”

Dagur smiled; it was one of his rare, tender smiles. “Keep talking like that, Thora, and I may start thinking you’re in love with me,” he softly teased.

“Well, you are _my_ brave, Berserker husband,” she quietly teased back. “I’m allowed t’ swoon.”

His brow rose and a bit of confusion came to his face. “…Blame it on spending all my energy and thinking power making love to you tonight, but, uh…what _exactly_ is that supposed to mean?”

Thora kissed the tip of his nose with a small giggle. “It means exactly what it sounds like: You’re my husband an’ ya make me swoon sometimes.” She watched as a proud, cheeky grin slowly spread across Dagur’s face.

“So…you _are_ falling for me…?” he asked, voice hopeful.

Her brow rose and she rolled her eyes, but she still wore a small grin. “Now who said _that_? Maybe I just enjoy lookin’ at beefy redheads?”

His smirk remaining in place, Dagur once more nestled his head under her chin, his eyes closing. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t know any _other_ beefy redheads, now isn’t it?”

“I know a few,” she murmured with a small laugh. “But, you are, by far, the most handsome of them.”

“Of course I am. The gods themselves made me in their imagine.”

Snorting, Thora rolled her eyes. “Whatever ya say, Dagur.”

“Sleep well, my love.”

“Sleep well… _my_ husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question for all ya'll: Are you enjoying the shorter chapters, or did you prefer the longer ones? I'm just a bit curious.


	37. 37

It was early in the morning. Hiccup was asleep at his work station, bits of soot staining his bare arms and face while last night’s sweat made his hair stick to his skin. Toothless was curled up just a few feet away, his ears twitching as he dreamt of chasing after Stormfly.

Suddenly, the door to the workshop burst open. Ruffnut and Tuffnut barged in, holding something aloft. “Hiccup!” they cried, startling both human and dragon out of their slumber. “Hiccup!”

“Whu-what?” Hiccup stammered, not noticing the sheet of parchment adhered to the side of his face. “What’s going on?”

Tuffnut thrust his arms forward. Hiccup leaned away in shock, but once his vision came into focus, he found himself staring at a Terrible Terror. “Branch Hopper came back!” he cried.

It was Ruffnut’s turn to throw her arm out; she, however, was holding a roll of parchment. “And she came back with a letter!”

“We don’t know who it’s from,” Tuffnut quickly added.

“But we read it,” Ruffnut continued.

“And it has information about Thora!” they nearly shouted in unison.

Hiccup snatched the letter from Ruffnut. “Give me that!” he snapped as he did such. Unfurling it, he started to read the unfamiliar, scratchy writing.

 

_Dragon Riders-_

_I can’t tell you where she is or what happened to her, but know that Thora is unhurt and is being treated fairly well despite being held against her will. I will see that no harm comes to her. Death Dance is also being held, though they are in different locations to make escape less likely._

_Please do not try to search for her. I fear that if you come looking, only pain and defeat would befall you._

As he read over the letter, his brows furrowed. “There was no seal or anything?” he asked, looking up at the twins.

They shook their heads. “None at all,” Ruffnut answered. “But we do know that whoever wrote this is a left-handed person and that they’re definitely from some sort of mildly educated background.”

Glancing up at them, Hiccup frowned. “…How do you know that?” he dared to ask. He knew the twins hid some sort of genius behind their mischievous exteriors, but he wasn’t sure how _much_ genius it was.

Tuffnut reached over, pointing at the runes on the page. “See how all these letters are slightly smudged? That’s because lefties smear ink and charcoal when they write because they’re going against the flow of the words.” He then looked at his sister for her to explain the rest.

“And you can tell that they’re mildly educated because, one, they know how to not only write, but _spell_ things correctly and use proper grammar as well.” She flicked a braid over her shoulder. “On top of that, those who have been well-educated tend to have neater handwriting. Whoever wrote this is about our level of schooling, which means they’re probably a mildly important person. Maybe related to a chief or a Völva’s apprentice. Maybe even a blacksmith’s apprentice.”

Nodding in agreement, Tuffnut crossed his arms over his chest. “On top of that, whoever wrote this letter knows who we are -or, at least, has heard of us- and knows that Thora’s dear to us.”

“And vice versa.”

“But the question is _who_ wrote the letter?” Hiccup stated, beginning to grow irritated. The twins’ deductions were true, but they weren’t the answers he was looking for. “Do you think it was Dagur?”

Ruffnut shook her head. “No. Couldn’t have been. _Totally_ different style of handwriting going on here.”

“And how do you know that?”

She shrugged, glancing away as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Dagur sent a letter to Thora a few months ago, letting her know that he’d be unable to make it to Honeymoon Island. His writing was very crisp, clean, and extremely superfluous.”

Tuffnut stuck his tongue out. “Yeah. He didn’t need to mention how much he was going to miss—You know what? Shutting up now.” He smiled innocently as Hiccup glared at him.

Ruffnut let out a sigh. “It may not have been Dagur who took her, but whoever it is that _did_ take her is taking care of her. She probably told them she was Dagur’s wife or the princess of Enda Fartagins.”

“Fjarðarins,” Tuffnut corrected.

Hiccup was silent for a moment. Backing up, he let himself plop down onto his stool and he reread the letter once more. Toothless crept over, curiously purring as he gently nudged the human. “Guys…Do you remember what Thora said about that prophecy thing?”

“The one about taming a monster and new enemies?” Ruffnut questioned.

“Yeah. What if-”

“That’s not so much a prophecy, really,” Tuffnut interrupted. “It’s more like an ominous—Right. Shutting up again.”

Hiccup quietly cursed as he rubbed his forehead. “What if she was taken by those new enemies she was talking about? After all, she said the ‘monster from Berk’s past’ will bring new enemies.”

The twins suddenly frowned. “Wait. Did the omen mean new enemies for _us_ or for us _and_ Thora?” Tuffnut asked.

“I…haven’t the slightest idea,” Hiccup replied. “Why?”

He didn’t like the way Ruffnut’s face paled or how serious she suddenly looked. “Because, Hiccup…she could have been taken by Troll Hunters.”

 

* * *

 

 

A month passed. After having been given the grand tour of the ship, Heather and Dagur were then instructed on how to use the weapons; many of them were familiar, being a mixture of ballistae and large crossbows, but others were less so. The chain shots were a bit tricky to use, as if they were coiled wrong, the whole device could break from the malfunction. Luckily, as Heather learned after her second time practicing with one, they were built to be easily fixed.

While the siblings were busy learning how to use the dragon-hunting weapons, Thora was kept busy with patients. A small cabin just off of the brig had been fashioned into a sort of healing room for her, with her satchel and her saddlebags from Death Dance having been brought in for her use. Most of the herbs and roots she had worked so hard to harvest, though, were in ruins thanks to having fallen in the sea _and_ not having been tended to during that time. Salvaging what she could, Thora began treating hunters and Berserkers alike.

The hunters were all in fairly good health, she found, but many of them suffered from strained muscles, infected splinters, and poorly treated dragon bites. She hated treating the hunters, though: They were rude and condescending towards her, refusing to call her by name. They instead called her ‘troll’ or ‘wench’ or, when they thought she was out of hearing range, crude names that would make Dagur remove their heads if he knew.

The Berserker warriors, on the other hand, were just as polite as Thora had remembered. They, too, were in fairly good health, though some suffered from spring colds while others had the same sort of injuries as the hunters.

‘At least they thank me,’ Thora thought one day as she washed her hand after sending a Berserker on his way. She let out a quiet sigh, her ear twitching ever so slightly as she heard her next patient approach.

To her surprise, it was Heather who walked in. Though they had been in close quarters during this time, they hadn’t really talked much -there just hadn’t been time once Ryker assigned Heather to spy duty. The two exchanged somewhat awkward smiles.

“How went the spyin’?” asked Thora.

“Poorly. I almost got found out.” As she sat down, Heather moved her arm from where it had been resting on her side only to reveal torn clothing and quite a bit of blood. “It’s just a surface wound, but since it came from a Scuttleclaw tail, I thought it best to have you look at it.”

Nodding in understanding, Thora began sorting through the herbs she had. “Good. Scuttleclaw wounds can get real nasty real fast. If you could remove your shirt, I’ll get t’ work.”

Doing as she was told, Heather removed her upper half’s clothing. She shivered slightly; the air this far below deck was cold.

“So…are ya allowed t’ talk ‘bout who you were spyin’ on?” Thora questioned as she started cleaning the wound. “Or is it somethin’ ya need t’ keep confidential between you, Dagur, an’ Ryker?”

“It’s not confidential,” she chuckled before letting out a soft hiss of pain. “I was spying on potential associates to the north of here. Ryker wanted me to make sure they were trustworthy enough for us to deal with them.” She noticed a bit of disappointment come to Thora’s face.

“Ah. More hunters or providers o’ goods?”

“Providers of goods.” She closed her eyes; whatever Thora was using to clean the wound with _stung_. “…I take it you were hoping I had been spying on the riders, though.”

“Am I that easy t’ read?” she chuckled. Now that the wound was clean, she carefully inspected it, looking for any debris or sign of venom. She found none. Leaning back, she grabbed a small bottle and a clean cloth. “Aye, I was hopin’ ya were. But I can’t help it…they’re my friends an’ family an’ I just disappeared out o’ nowhere. They’re probably worried about me an’ I’m thrice as worried ‘bout them.” She used her teeth to open the bottle.

Heather let out a sigh, unaware that she had done so. “I’m sure they’re alright,” she told her. “After all, Hiccup and the other riders are Hairy Hooligans…they’re some of the hardiest Vikings in the archipelago.”

At that, Thora smiled. “Aye, you’re right. This is goin’ t’ feel quite cold, by the way.” Pouring a bit of the liquid onto the cloth, she started to gently dab it along the cut.

Once more, Heather shivered. “You weren’t kidding…But, the pain’s gone now.”

“Good. Means the magic’s still in it.”

She cocked her head and looked down. “Magic? You’ve got magical medicine on you?”

“Not much, sadly, but aye, I do.” Sitting upright once more, she corked the bottle and set it aside. “Like ya said, the wound is just a surface one an’ no venom had gotten into it. Aside from keepin’ it clean, there’s not much else ya can do t’ help it heal.”

Heather nodded in understanding. “Alright. Thanks, by the way.” Grabbing her shirt, she started to pull it back on. “Have you seen Dagur lately?”

Shaking her head, Thora tossed the soiled cloth into a bucket of other used rags. “Not since this mornin’. Ryker’s had me busy treatin’ his crew most o’ the day.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know I was your last patient.”

A groan of relief left Thora’s mouth and she flopped forward, her forehead landing on the table with a loud ‘thud’. “Thank the gods…”

Heather gave her a pitying look. Even though they hadn’t talked much over the last few weeks, she thought Thora was friendly enough and was undeserving of the abuse she suffered from the Hunters. “Hey…I was going to go take a bath. You seem like you could use some relaxation, too, so why don’t you come with me?”

Turning her head so that her cheek rested against the table, Thora looked at her. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Gods know you deserve one after putting up with those jerks.”

With a small laugh, Thora sat upright. “Thanks,” she said, “but they’re not the worst patients I’ve had…sadly.” As Heather stood up, she also rose to her feet. “There were a few folks on the mainland who make these blokes look like polite children.”

At that, Heather frowned, her eyes filled with shock. “Are you _serious_?” she gaped.

Nodding, Thora followed her out into the hall. “I am. Then again…those patients _were_ other trolls as well as couple grumpy yarbogha…”

“…Yarbowhaddawhat?”

“Yarbogha. They’re…Hm. Do ya know what centaurs are?”

“Half men, half horse people.”

Thora nodded. “Aye. Well, yarbogha are kind o’ like that, except their animal half is a bull. An’ I tell ya: Their temperment is just as bad, if not worse, than a bull’s.”

Heather stared at her, eyes wide.

“No, I’m not kiddin’,” Thora continued, able to read the expression. “An’ when it’s matin’ season, they get even more ornery. _That’s_ when I had t’ heal a couple o’ the juveniles who went an’ tried t’ challenge the lead males. Was even forced t’ castrate a few.”

Her body shaking with a shudder of disgust, Heather quickly shook her head. “Oh gods, that’s _disgusting_.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” she chuckled. Closing her eyes for a few moments, she rubbed the side of her neck.

“Sore?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

She nodded. “Aye. Havin’ t’ look down all the time can do that t’ ya.”

Heather laughed. “What a problem to have.”

A cheeky grin appeared on Thora’s face for a few seconds before quickly fading away. As they approached the stairs leading to the lowest level of the ship, they could see Ryker coming up them, a towel around his neck. He stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Have yeh-”

“Aye, I’ve finished tendin’ to your men,” she answered before he could finish. “Three o’ them need t’ stay in bed for a week at the very least, but the rest have been cleared t’ return t’ duty.”

He nodded in understanding. “Good.” He then looked at Heather. “And how did your mission go?”

“It was almost sabotaged by a rogue Scuttleclaw, but I was able to get _some_ information about the island.” She brushed her braid over her shoulder. “I’ll give you the briefing _after_ my bath.”

His brow rose. “Oh? And why not beforehand?”

She gave him a bland look. “You made _me_ wait,” she retorted. “Now it’s your turn to wait for _me_.”

Ryker frowned, but nodded. “Very well then. I expect a full report before nightfall.” Without another word, he brushed past the two women, heading off down the hall.

Rolling her eyes, Thora shook her head. “Ass,” she muttered, hearing Heather laugh.

“He really is,” she agreed, starting to head down the stairs. “I much prefer Dagur’s company to his, surprisingly--” She suddenly paused, a bit of a worried look on her face.

Thora’s brow rose; why did Heather look scared all of a sudden? “Dagur can be a bit… _much_ t’ handle at times,” she said, “but aye, he’s far better company than Ryker. Especially recently. He seems t’ have calmed down a bit.”

“I’ve noticed that, too,” she agreed, thankful that Thora seemed to agree with her. “Except in battle, of course. He’s still living up to his title of ‘the Deranged’ while fighting.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found a door directly in front of them. It was partially open and the remnants of steam from Ryker’s bath were floating out of the room. Both women stuck out their tongues; they weren’t fans of his bathing oils.

“Why does he have to use frankincense?” Shoving open the door, Heather shook her head as she walked into the room.

“Because it’s expensive an’ good at keepin’ illnesses away,” Thora answered, ducking as she entered after Heather. Being on the lowest level of the ship, the bathing room also had the lowest ceiling. “Lots o’ so-called important men love t’ bathe themselves in expensive oils. It’s a subtle way o’ showin’ off their wealth while also protecting their health.” She shook her head. “More annoyin’ than anything.”

Her nose scrunching up at the thought of it wasting good money, Heather let out a heavy sigh. “Well, I don’t know how they can stand the stuff. It smells far too musty and oddly sour to me.” She went over to the far wall, where there was a strange chute connecting the wall to a large, circular tub. At the top of the chute was an odd device that opened up a small section of the hull, allowing seawater to come pouring down the chute. When she judged the tub to be full enough, she closed the hatch.

From the corner of her eye, Thora saw something slither out of the shadows. A pitying smile came to her lips as she watched the elderly dragon make its way to a pile of rocks near the tub. She knelt down beside it, gently petting it; its species was unknown to her, but she felt bad for the creature. After heating the rocks with its fire, the dragon looked up at her with four, tired eyes.

“Thank ya,” she quietly told it, continuing to pet it. “I’ll be sure t’ sneak ya some food tonight, alright?”

Heather saw the dragon perk slightly. “You sneak it food?” she asked, grabbing a pair of tongs.

“Aye. I wish I could do more t’ help, but I can’t break the poor thing’s chain.” As the dragon wandered back to its resting area, she stood up. “I’d love t’ be able t’ set it free, but I’m not sure if it could use its wings anymore. They look severely atrophied.”

There was a loud ‘plunk’ as Heather began dropping the hot rocks into the tub. “Atrophied?” she repeated, brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

For a minute, Thora was silent as she mulled over how to best explain the word. “So, ya know when ya break a leg or an arm an’ it’s healing, it gets weaker since you’re not usin’ it nearly as much anymore?” Heather nodded. “That’s what atrophy is, only it usually means somethin’ in way worse condition. So, say you’ve a broken arm _and_ you’re stuck in bed with a horrible illness for a few months after. Since you’re not usin’ your arm very much, it gets thinner an’ thinner because you’re losin’ fat _and_ muscle. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of. So, it’s like when a crippled person loses use of a limb and it just gets…well, useless looking because they can’t use it anymore?”

“Exactly.” She started to disrobe, glancing over at the dragon again. “Most o’ the time, dragon wings are extremely muscular along the bone because they’re always flyin’ around. But since this poor thing hasn’t been able t’ fly in who-knows-how-long, theirs are thin an’ when ya touch them, ya feel nothin’ but skin an’ bone.”

Beginning to remove her clothes as well, Heather frowned. The bath dragon’s situation was not a good one for her to hear. “That’s no good,” she murmured, more to herself than to Thora. “Poor thing should be allowed to roam around and get some exercise at the very least…”

Thora let out a sarcastic laugh. “I can tell ya right now, Heather: These dragon hunters don’t care about the wellbeing o’ any o’ the dragons they capture. Aye, they may keep _some_ in good health, but that’s only because they’ll sell better or work longer.” Holding onto the side of the tub, she dipped one leg into the water. Judging it to be just the right temperature, she climbed in the rest of the way and eased herself down. “The treat the dragons no better than slaves.”

Heather sighed, nodding in agreement as she got into the tub. “True…Which makes me wonder what could have happened to Windshear if Ryker hadn’t agreed to letting me be an ally.”

“Probably the same thing that’s happened t’ me an’ Death Dance.” She slumped down, though the water still only reached her waist. Heather noticed that her tail had wrapped around her hair, keeping it out of the water. “End up on different ships, not knowin’ how the other’s bein’ treated…if the other is alive at all. Ya end up gettin’ sick with worry an’ have trouble sleepin’.” She shook her head. “Be glad ya got t’ keep your dragon free.”

She frowned; she didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I could…try to get some information on her, if you’d like?” she offered. “Just because Ryker and the other hunters won’t tell _you_ anything about her, it doesn’t mean they won’t tell _me_ anything.” She began to splash water onto her neck and shoulders.

Thora quietly laughed. “If ya want t’ try, go right on ahead,” she said, “but I don’t see it workin’. Dagur’s tried before. But, then again…” She paused a moment, her brow somewhat raised as she looked Heather over. “You’re definitely the sneakier sibling.” She started to rub the dirt from her skin.

Her own brow rose; she was surprised Thora would say that. “I am? I would have thought Dagur was…”

Snorting, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. The two o’ us know just how loud an’ obnoxious he can be,” she chuckled. “Dagur’s not really the quiet an’ subtle type. He tries, though; he really does.” A hint of a smirk played on her lips. “You, though? You’re quiet an’ sly _an’_ you’ve got secrets. Don’t tell Dagur, but I think you’re more useful t’ the hunters than him.”

“…What did you mean, ‘I have secrets’?” she questioned, still frowning. She began rubbing away the sweat and dirt that covered her skin. “I’ve got nothing to hide…a-and if I did, it wouldn’t be anything of importance.” She started to wonder if Thora could see through her act.

‘From what the riders and Dagur have told me, she is a witch…and witches have a strange way of _knowing_ the truth, no matter how well a person lies. Is she doing that with me now?’ Her cheeks turned a bit red when she noticed that Thora was staring at her. Quickly looking away, she began washing her legs.

“Then how ‘bout ya tell me what the riders did t’ ya t’ warrant ya seeking revenge on them?” Thora wore a knowing look.

Swallowing hard, Heather did her best to avoid looking at the other woman. “Th-they, um…abandoned me. I sent for their, uh, help when we spotted Dagur’s armada back on my island. But they never came.” Shrugging, she did her best to put on a serious face; why was it suddenly hard to act cold about her friends? “I’ll never forgive them for that.”

Leaning forward, Thora rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm. “I think ya know what I’m about t’ say.”

Sighing in defeat, she slumped down until her chin touched the water. “That I’m a horrible liar?”

“Close,” she chuckled. “More along the lines o’ ya know _I_ can see through your lies. At least, right now I can. The rest o’ the time?” She gave her a reassuring smile. “Ya put on a _damned_ good act an’ have everyone fooled. Now.” She leaned back once more, stretching out her legs; she was careful to avoid touching Heather’s legs. “As a witch an’ as your sister-in-law, ya have my complete an’ utter promise t’ secrecy. Tell me why you’re really here.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, still not completely sure if she should trust Thora. “You promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

Sighing, she let her head fall back against the tub wall and closed her eyes. “I’m here…because I’m actually spying on Dagur and the hunters,” she admitted. “It’s because of the hunters that Dagur attacked my island. The only reason he attacked us is because a flock of a rare breed of dragon called a Tide Glider had chosen to nest on our island. We did our best to protect them, but…” She sighed again.

“But Dagur had too many warriors. My people are -were? No. Are. Some of us still live- fishermen and fisherwomen. We never had a reason to fight before. Because I had worked under Alvin in my youth and had befriended Astrid, I learned how to somewhat fight, but I was no match for Dagur. I’m surprised he didn’t kill me though…instead, he dumped me in one of the fishing boats and sent me out with the tide. No oars, no food, no water…just me and the boat.”

As she listened to Heather speak, Thora remained silent. At the mention of Dagur setting her adrift, she frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like Dagur,’ she thought. ‘He’s always been the kind to kill his enemies…Unless he doesn’t harm women? That would make sense.’

“So, when Windshear found me and nursed me back to health,” Heather continued, her voice softer now, “I made a promise to avenge the harm he and the hunters had brought to my people and the dragons. In order to do that, I had to somehow infiltrate the hunters so I could get to their leaders as well.

“But all that was _before_ I knew…before I knew Dagur was actually my brother.” Opening her eyes, she looked up at the ceiling. “Don’t get me wrong -I still want to punish Dagur in some fashion. His orders led to the deaths of my parents…but, I know he was acting under someone _else’s_ orders—this…this Viggo’s orders. So now I’m left more confused than anything.”

“Ya want t’ try an’ have a relationship with your brother because he’s the only family ya have left, but at the same time, ya want t’ kill him for what he’s done t’ your people,” Thora said quietly. “I’m guessin’ it’s not helpin’ how happy he is t’ have ya in his life?”

She shook her head. “No. No, it doesn’t. I went into this with the plan to one night, slit his throat and disappear. But now? I’m not so sure.”

“I can’t say I know how ya feel, but I can say that it’s alright for ya t’ be upset with him, t’ hate him with your whole bein’. It really is perfectly fine, especially since he wronged ya so badly.” She paused for a moment; why was she beginning to feel angry towards Heather? Plenty of people wanted Dagur dead. Trying to shove the thought from her mind, she continued. “But, it’s also alright if ya want t’ let him live. He _knows_ he hurt you an’ he’s goin’ t’ forever try t’ make it up t’ ya, even though he knows he never can.”

She glanced over at Thora. “Did he…did he tell you that?”

“No. But I know it’s how he feels from the way he talks.”

“He talks about me?”

“Gushes, more like it.” She smiled. “He loves having you around and he really enjoys your company. To be honest…I don’t blame him. Not after what happened to him.”

Heather’s brow rose. “What do you mean?”

Thora shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she sighed. “It’s…somethin’ Dagur told me about his childhood. But I promised t’ not speak o’ it to anyone.” Shrugging, she finally let her hair touch the water. “You can ask him ‘bout it, though. Ask him how ya came t’ be raised as a fisherman’s daughter instead o’ a chieftain’s daughter.”

She nodded slowly. “I may just do that, then…It’d be nice to know _why,_ you know? It’s one of the things that’s been driving me crazy these last few weeks.” She managed a small smile. “Thanks, though…for listening, I mean. And the advice. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’m glad there’s another woman around I can talk to -and _honestly_ at that.”

“You’re better company than the hunters, that’s for sure,” she chuckled. “You’re welcome. What you’re doin’ is a hard task an’ I’m surprised you’ve managed t’ keep the act up this long.”

“What do you mean? You’ve been acting longer than I have!”

Thora blinked, taken aback. “Huh? I haven’t been acting.”

Heather stared at her, cheeks starting to turn the slightest bit pink. “Wait, so…you’re actually in love with Dagur? All your kisses and laughs and stuff with him haven’t been fake?”

It was Thora’s turn to blush. “N-no, but it’s not like that. Dagur’s become my friend.”

“A friend you’re married to, kiss, and bed?” Her brow rose and she wore a knowing smirk.

“I married Dagur out o’ necessity,” she explained. “He was goin’ t’ enslave me an’ Hiccup otherwise. But…I struck a deal with him. I’d be his wife in exchange for our freedom. But I didn’t love him an’ he knew this. Over time, though, I’ve started t’ think o’ him as a friend. I guess that’s a form o’ love, since I do love my friends, but I’m not _in love_ with him.”

“So…why the kisses and the bedding?”

She shrugged. “Dagur is attractive an’ I’ve always been _attracted_ t’ him. And it’s not like he isn’t the only friend I kiss an’ bed.” She dunked her head under the water for a moment. “But he’s certainly my favorite one t’ kiss an’ bed.”

Heather blinked, surprised by this confession. “You’ve…slept with your friends?”

At that, Thora laughed. “It’s like ya don’t even _know_ the dragon riders!” she giggled. “Our group…we’re close. Very close. By this point, most o’ us have slept with one another, but it’s been purely platonic. We enjoy knowin’ that we can share such intimacy with each other without bein’ judged.”

Cocking her head, Heather started to undo her braid. “I…never would have thought that such things could happen between people who are _just_ friends.”

“It’s not a common thing, that’s for certain. Especially on Berk. But, it actually got to a point where we had a very deep group conversation about it.” She used her fingers to start combing through her hair. “It basically boiled down to this: We all love each other as friends an’ we pretty much all find each other attractive. At the moment, we’re away from civilization an’ our parents, so as long as we take the proper precautions an’ are all consentin’, we’ll be as intimate as we want with each other.”

“Ahh. That makes sense, really. That way, you all are also more comfortable and get to learn what you do and don’t like.”

“Exactly!” Thora smiled. “It’s a rather nice set up, t’ be honest. I’m…honestly kind o’ hoping we continue it when we eventually return t’ Berk.”

Heather’s smile suddenly faded. “But…What if _you_ don’t return to Berk?” She glanced away. “You’re Dagur’s wife. I would think he’d want to take you back to Berserk.”

She sighed, her own smile leaving her face. “True…but…” She half-heartedly shrugged. “I couldn’t tell ya what the future holds in store for any o’ us. Really -I can’t. I don’t have my rune stones. I…I can only hope that there’s a slim chance Dagur gives up his position as chief or, the even slimmer chance o’ him divorcin’ me.”

Heather gave her a pitying look. “Then, I guess we can really only hope for good things to come.”


	38. 38

Ruffnut let out a heavy sigh. Seconds later, Tuffnut let out a sigh as well, though his sounded even more disappointed. A minute later, a third sigh echoed throughout the still room -this time, it was let out by Snotlout. The three of them continued to lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling of Thora’s hut.

They may have been spending most of their days in the hut, using the excuse of sorting out the bad food from good.

Finally, after an extended period of tense silence, Ruffnut flung her arms into the air. “Why doesn’t Hiccup send any of us out on patrols to look for her?”

“It’s yak-shit!” Snotlout agreed, smacking his fist into his palm.

“He’s her _cousin,_ for Thor’s sake!” Tuffnut added. “He should be the most worried out of all of us!”

Ruffnut then crossed her arms, scowling at the ceiling. “But _nooo_ …It’s us, her best friends and Snotlout, being worried sick over her.” She rolled her eyes. “I am _so_ tempted to walk up to Hiccup’s scrawny, attractive ass and give him a piece of my mind.”

“It is a kind of nice ass, isn’t it?” Tuffnut murmured.

“Ew, guys, _blood_ cousin here,” Snotlout cringed, sticking his tongue out. “I do _not_ need to hear about Hiccup’s ass unless you’re calling him, as a whole, an ass. Which, right now he is.” Shaking his head, he sighed again and sat up. “But we really should try talking to him. I mean, if he knows that half of the riders want to go looking for her…”

Tuffnut tilted his head back so that he could look at Snotlout. “You think we haven’t tried? Ruff and I have pleaded, begged, threatened, and even tried _blackmailing_ him into letting us go look for Thora beyond the searches we’ve already done.”

“But his answer is always the same: We gotta focus on what’s happening _now_. Dagur and the dragon hunters take priority,” Ruffnut continued. “I mean, yeah, they’re important, but c’mon!”

Snotlout crossed his arms, frowning. “Let me guess: He also added in a whole spiel about how Thora would rather have us deal with the threat to us and Berk instead of looking for her?” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the twins nod in unison.

“Yep. And the crappy thing?” Ruffnut grumbled.

“He’s _right_ ,” Tuffnut finished. “Thora wouldn’t want us searching for her if it means taking time away from people wanting to hurt us and our dragons.”

Snotlout frowned. “But…we gotta do _something_. I mean, she’s _our_ witch - _our_ healer. We can’t just leave her as someone’s captive!”

Sitting up, Ruffnut pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “We don’t know who it is who’s got her. We know it’s not Dagur, because whoever sent Hiccup that letter didn’t have his handwriting.”

“And, if it was Dagur, he’d be gloating at us every time we see him,” Snotlout added. Glancing over at Ruffnut, he found her staring out into nothingness as she chewed on her lower lip. “…You alright?” he dared to ask, brows furrowed in concern.

“No,” she quietly admitted. Realizing that she was being watched, she quickly buried her face in her arms.

“Why would she be?” Tuffnut snorted, his tone more than a little heavy on the sarcasm. “Our best friend is missing, we can’t do anything to help her…” He sighed and sat up as well, resting his head on Ruffnut’s shoulder. “For all we know, she could be in the clutches of a troll hunter…”

He frowned. “Those exist?”

“Of course they do. If it’s not human, there’s a hunter for it,” Ruffnut sniffled. She coughed, trying to make her voice sound less shaky. “Dragon hunters, elk hunters, bounty hunters, troll hunters—they’re all hunters and what do hunters do? They _kill_!” By now, she had given up her attempts to hide the fact she was crying. “They already took Thora’s arm! Imagine what they’ll do now that they have the rest of her!” she sobbed. “They’ll chop her up into tiny bits and sell her bones for jewelry and use her skin for their boots! Or they’ll cut out her tongue and cut her hair and force her to fight in one of their colosseums!”

Scooting closer to her, Snotlout hesitantly reached out towards her. His hand paused just inches away from her shoulder as he questioned whether or not it would be safe to comfort her. Swallowing his pride, he slipped his arm around her waist instead and brought himself even closer to her. He rested his head against her shoulder, his free hand moving to rest atop her knee.

“We’ll get her back, sis,” Tuffnut murmured, also hugging Ruffnut. “We’ll get her back safe and sound.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean, _they got away_?! You were within shooting distance of the riders! You should have fired at one of them!”

“Within shooting distance, yes, but with all the weaving and dodging Windshear and I had to do to avoid being hit by the catapults and nets, we couldn’t get a good aim on them.”

Ryker glared down at young woman, his eyes narrowed in anger. This wasn’t the first time Heather had failed a mission that involved trying to capture the dragon riders and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. But he knew better than to call out her failures here, in front of Dagur. So, instead, he closed his eyes and slowly let out a long breath.

“You need t’ start doin’ better out there,” he told her, his voice quiet, but stern. “I’ve seen the way the two o’ you work together and it’s magnificent. But soon as those dragon riders come flyin’ at us, you get sloppy.”

Dagur raised his brow. “Cut her some slack, will you? The first few times you go into battle against people who were once your friends, it’s hard.” He set his hand on Heather’s shoulder and stepped forward, placing himself between her and Ryker. “She’s still getting used to the whole ‘revenge’ thing, you know?” He glanced back at Heather, seeing the thankful smile on her lips. He then looked back at Ryker. “Give her a few more battles and she’ll be in tiptop shape. Isn’t that right, sis?”

“Y-yeah,” she agreed, nodding. “All the other fights are against strangers and they’re easy to ignore the pleas and cries from. It’s just going to take me a little while longer to get used to making the riders hurt.” Shrugging, she looked away from the two men. “Anyway, like I said: We were having a hard time with all those rocks and nets flying through the air.”

Ryker cocked his brow, not convinced by her answer. Regardless, he turned his back to them. “Next time, _shoot one down_.”

As he walked away, Dagur stuck his tongue out at him. “Ugh. What crawled up his trousers this morning?” he grumbled, leading Heather in the opposite direction. “ _I_ think you did great. Especially that barrel roll Windshear did and you held your axe out like some sort of whirling dervish of death!” Despite having lost the sparring match with the dragon riders, he was still in a rather good mood.

Heather chuckled, amused by her brother’s excitement. “I’m glad you liked it,” she told him, “though it’s a fairly easy move, since I just hold on and brace myself.” She wondered if his good spirits were a result of the earlier bloodshed or because he had gotten a good night’s sleep.

“It still looked amazing,” he grinned. Patting her on the back, he came to a stop in front of Windshear, who cocked her head to the side as she looked at him. “Hey there, Windshear. Surprised you’re not eating your dinner yet!”

Windshear’s eyes half-closed in annoyance and she snorted at him. Turning her attention to Heather, she gently nuzzled her rider. She then snatched the back of her tunic between her jaws and carefully flung her onto her back.

Heather gave Dagur an apologetic smile. “I actually promised I’d sharpen her claws tonight before dinner,” she explained. It was a partial lie, but the words flowed smoothly enough from her mouth that they sounded honest. “But, in order to do that, I need to go to the other ship. They’ve got finer files than the ones aboard this ship. So, I’ll see you later, alright?”

Dagur smiled, giving her a small wave. “Alright. Enjoy your pedicure, Windshear!”

Again, the dragon snorted before taking off into the air. Lightly shaking his head, Dagur chuckled and made his way below deck, towards his cabin. He wondered if Thora was busy tending to those who had been injured during that day’s conflict or if he would find her seeking some peace in their room.

As he opened the door, however, he found neither: Instead, Thora was asleep in their bed. Her skin was pale and covered in a sheen of sweat and he began to worry that she had fallen ill until he saw her vice-like grip on the blankets. Terrified whimpers left her mouth as she fought to breathe.

Dagur rushed over to her and started to shake her “Thora! Hey, Thora, wake up!” he told her, keeping his voice quiet, yet firm. “Thora, wake up! It’s just a nightmare!”

After some more shaking, Thora’s eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath. Bolting upright, she felt her throat, looking around in a panic. Finding herself in their cabin and Dagur beside her, she stared at him for a moment, her jaw quaking.

“Another one?” he quietly asked, a pitying look coming to his face.

She nodded. A whimper then left her mouth and she leaned over, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Shifting himself, Dagur sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, sighing quietly. This was her third nightmare in the span of a week and it had him worried.

“What was it this time?” he asked, voice soft. He gently started to rock her and stroke the back of her head. In return, she slid her arm around his neck.

“There were bodies everywhere,” she whispered. “Bodies o’ people I knew. Bodies o’ people I didn’t know. Bodies o’ loved ones an’ o’ enemies. I was surrounded by bodies. They were all in varyin’ states o’ decay. I tried t’ run away from them, but I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t hear anything but their whispers as they told me truths an’ lies. There were so many voices, I couldn’t think for myself.” She bit her tongue, trying to curl up on Dagur’s lap, but she was a bit too big for that. “An’ then a figure rose up from the bodies an’ told me that it would make sure I died in the most slow an’ most painful o’ fashions for all o’ the lives I couldn’t save.”

Dagur let out a heavy sigh, bringing her closer. Kissing her temple, he let his hand cup her cheek, his thumb lightly wiping away some of her tears. “It was just a nightmare,” he told her. “A bad dream. Nothing more. It holds no power over you.”

“But it was so real…”

“It _wasn’t_ real.” He pulled back slightly and looked down at her. “ _You_ are real. Those nightmares of yours aren’t. Remember that, love: They hold no power over you because they’re not real. Try to tell yourself that when you start to have one of the nightmares, alright?”

She nodded slowly as she swallowed hard. “I’ll…I’ll try,” she murmured. “It’s hard, though. All my senses get overwhelmed durin’ most o’ the nightmares an’ I can hardly think. I can only be afraid.” Her eyes closed for a moment as Dagur stole a kiss from her.

“You’re stronger than them,” he whispered against her lips. Resting his forehead against hers, he smiled and held her face in his hands. “You’re Thora Gretasdotter, the best witch in the Barbaric Archipelago. Probably even the world. At least, _I_ think so.”

He was relieved when Thora let out a small laugh. “A witch who can’t do any magic…”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’ve worked plenty of magic over the last few weeks, even if you don’t think you have.” Kissing the tip of her nose, he carefully untangled himself from her limbs and left the bed. “Look at how quickly my men heal after they’ve been tended to by you. Look how much more calm and focused the hunters have been since you started brewing that special tea for them.” He went over to the table, where a basin and a pitcher of water sat. “You’ve even managed to bring Ryker down from one of his raging fits with just the power of your voice.” He glanced over his shoulder as he partially filled the basin with water. “I’d say that’s pretty magical.”

Pulling a knee to her chest, Thora found herself wishing he hadn’t walked away. “That’s not magic, though. That’s _healin’_. Aye, I could improve some o’ those things with magic, but for now, I can only work with what I’ve got.” She let out a quiet sigh; she had been trying to summon magic to her over the last few weeks, but it stoutly refused to budge.”

He started to remove his breastplate. “ _Whatever_ you call it, I consider it to be magic.”

Thora opened her mouth to sarcastically reply, but as the breastplate came off and a large, fresh wound was revealed on Dagur’s back, she let out a curse instead. Jumping from the bed, she rushed over to him, holding him still with her tail as she inspected the injury.

“How did ya get this?” she demanded. It didn’t quite look like a burn, but it most definitely _wasn’t_ a cut, and it was large -about the size of her hand.

“Oh…that. Heh, funny story really…”

She gave him a look that bore no humor. “Dagur.”

“Alright, alright.” He let out a theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes, slouching forward. “One of the dragon’s picked me and sent me flying across the deck. It’s wood burn.”

“Oh gods…” She smacked her forehead. “This is why I’m always tellin’ ya t’ start wearin’ paddin’ under your armor!” Shaking her head, she snatched up the clean washcloth from the table and swirled it around in the water. “Not only does it help blunt the impact o’ weapons, but it keeps your skin from gettin’ messed up like this!”

He pouted. “But wearing padding would hide these babies!” Holding up his arms, he flexed his muscles before giving each bicep a kiss. “You wouldn’t want _that_ now would you?”

Thora gave him a bland look as she wrung out the cloth. “Aye, I would. In fact, I want everyone I know who has bare arms t’ learn t’ cover them up because o’ how damned dangerous it is t’ leave them exposed like that!” Before Dagur had the chance to reply, she gently started dabbing the wound with the cloth.

Hissing in pain, he tried to pull out of her grip, but her tail continued to keep him rooted to the spot. “That really stings, you know that?”

Satisfied with the cleanliness of the wound, she kissed his cheek. “If ya wore proper paddin’, ya wouldn’t be feelin’ this pain,” she told him with a mockingly sweet smile. She then went over to the wall, where her satchel was hanging. Digging around in it, she searched for a certain bottle of hers. ‘Thank the gods Ryker was _kind_ enough to get me some new herbs to work with,’ she thought, finding the right bottle. ‘Otherwise, a wound like that would end up infected within three days even _with_ me monitoring it.’ She also pulled a roll of bandages from the bag before heading back to Dagur.

“What’re you going to put on it?” he asked, seeing the bottle.

“An herbal mixture.”

“But what _kind_ of herbal mixture?”

“One that smells pleasant an’ will help clear up the wound.”

He frowned; he knew this was her way of being difficult when she was upset. “Alright then.” His eyes clenched shut and he let out a quiet curse when she poured a few drops of the concoction onto the wound. Soon, his nose was overwhelmed by the smell of lavender and the injury began to hurt less.

With some difficulty, Thora was able to free one end of the bandage roll from its spot. “Hold this,” she quietly instructed, placing the end on Dagur’s shoulder.

Doing as instructed, Dagur felt her beginning to wind the bandages around his torso in a diagonal fashion. She would pause once in a while, adjusting where the fabric was laying, before continuing. When the wound was finally covered, she tied the end in a knot and then wove the remaining few inches between the layers.

“There. Give it a few days and you’ll be able t’ take the bandage off,” she sighed, washing her hand off in the basin. “I don’t want ya doin’ too much liftin’ or flailin’ in that time though. Not that you’ll want to. An injury like that is goin’ t’ _hurt_ if ya move wrong.”

He sighed, frowning. “Great. Not like I’ve been fighting every other day for the last two weeks or anything,” he grumbled, moving to finally wash his face. “No pain, no gain I guess.”

Thora watched him, her brow rising ever so slightly. Shaking her head, she grabbed a towel for him, handing it over when he had finished. “I’m sorry I harped on ya,” she murmured. “I just…I just wish you were a wee bit safer is all.”

Patting his face dry, he glanced up at her. “I _am_ safe. I’ve got my armor, I’ve got my smarts, and I’ve got my weapons.” he told her. A cocky laugh then left his mouth and he wore a proud smirk. “I’m one of the best warriors in the whole archipelago! I wouldn’t be a Berserker otherwise. How much more safe can a guy get?”

“Ya wear armor, aye, but ya could wear a lil’ more.” She moved to put the bottle of medicine back in her bag. “One deep cut on your arm an’ ya could bleed out in less than five minutes. One arrow through the shoulder an’ your arm could become lame for the rest o’ your life. One hefty blow from a mace or club an’ your stomach could be filled with bits o’ metal from your breastplate.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder before pulling a large comb from her satchel. “I don’t want t’ see any o’ that happen t’ ya is all.” She sat back down on the bed and began to comb through her hair.

Dagur watched her for a moment, staying silent. Then, he joined her on the bed, taking the comb from her. “I won’t let any of those happen to me,” he told her, beginning to comb through the tangles at the end of her hair. “This wood-burn was just a stupid accident because I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“Ya don’t know that,” she mumbled, not looking at him. “There’s always a chance ya could end up distracted again. What if it ends up with ya bein’ eaten by a dragon instead o’ thrown by one? What if you’re too busy directin’ your men t’ notice the arrow flyin’ right for your chest or the enemy sneakin’ up behind ya with a knife?” She swallowed hard, her jaw starting to quiver again.

“Thora-”

“No!” she suddenly snapped. “No excuses, Dagur! I don’t want t’ be stuck here on this ship surrounded by my enemies only t’ see your lifeless body brought back -if there’s even a body _left_!” A choked sob left her mouth and she tried to rub the tears from her face. “I can’t—I can’t do it again. Gods, _please_ don’t make me go through it again…” Suddenly turning, she clung onto him, the abruptness of the force making them both tumble backwards onto the blankets. “Dagur, promise me. Promise me ya won’t make me go through it again!”

He frowned, confused and worried by her sudden mood change. “What’re you talking about?” he quietly asked, wrapping his arms around her. “Make you go through what again?”

It took her a few minutes to regain enough composure to answer him. Even then, though, she could barely raise her voice above a shaky whisper. “Promise me ya won’t make me go through losin’ the man I love again. Please. Please, Dagur. Once was bad enough. I love ya. Please don’t let me lose you, too. I don’t—I don’t think I could live through it. Please…promise me ya won’t do that to me.”

As she spoke, Dagur’s eyes slowly widened. Ever since he had first laid eyes on her after becoming chieftain, he had longed to hear the words ‘I love you’ leave her mouth. But not like this. He had always imagined it happening during a time of quiet joy or passion. Not distress.

But she had still said them. And she had _meant_ them.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head down and kissed the top of her head, comfortingly rubbing her arm. “I promise you won’t have to go through that ever again,” he murmured. “I’ll…I’ll get some padding and a chainmail tunic first thing in the morning. I’ll make sure I won’t get a stupid injury like this again. If you want it, I’ll even get a helmet again.”

Thora sniffled, swallowing hard. “Th-thank ya,” she murmured, her voice a bit muffled by his chest. “I just…I just don’t want ya t’ end up seriously hurt when ya could have prevented it…”

He shifted them somewhat, rolling them onto their sides he could look her in the eye. “If it makes you happy, I’ll do anything,” he told her, voice soft. “You want me to wear more armor? I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”  

She swallowed hard and did her best to wipe her face and nose with her sleeve. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had taken herself by surprise when she confessed her feelings. Truth be told, she didn’t even realize what she was saying until the words had left her mouth, nor did she even realize that she _did_ love Dagur.

But, the longer she dwelt on it, the more she came to understand that she had, indeed, fallen in love with him.

‘I wonder why I didn’t notice?’ she thought, closing her eyes. She let out a small sigh as Dagur went back to stroking her hair. ‘With Cæna, I noticed right away…I guess I was just in denial since Dagur’s supposed to be my enemy.’ She wrapped her arm and her tail around Dagur, nuzzling into his neck. ‘But he’s also changed so much over the last few weeks. Ever since Heather came along, he’s become less enthusiastic about fighting and more worried about her safety and my safety. I think…I think he’s afraid to lose us like how he lost Oswald.’

“Thora?” His eyes were closed now, too, and his hand moved slower across her hair.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love ya, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Just two more claws and then you’ll be back to razer-sharp status,” Heather quietly told Windshear. As she brought the file against the dragon’s claw, she looked around the smithy. ‘Only two people left besides me and they’ll be heading out to dinner soon,’ she thought.

Windshear shifted, resting her head atop her leg. She lazily opened one eye, also looking around the room. She didn’t pay much heed to the humans around her, though -she was listening to the captive dragons on the deck below them. Many of them were shuffling about in misery, but there was one who merely let out an occasional grunt of pain.

“Quittin’ time,” one of the hunters said, standing upright. He leaned back, wincing as his spine popped back into adjustment. “Let’s go get some dinner, eh?”

The other hunter nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he agreed. He then looked over at Heather, his brow rising. “Are ya comin’, wench?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “I got a few more nails left on Windshear. Then I’ll head out to dinner.” It was a lie; she was working on the last nail now.

He nodded, setting his tools back on their hooks in the wall. “Make sure you blow the lanterns out before ya leave. Don’t need t’ have our ship burnt down because of some lazy woman.”

When he back was turned to her, Heather crudely gestured at him. ‘ _You’re_ the lazy one, asshole,’ she thought. She continued to file as the two men left and did so for a few minutes more. Then, she paused, listening for any footsteps outside the room. “Alright girl,” she whispered, setting the file down, “you know the plan. I’ll sneak down, check on Death Dance, and you keep a watch out for anyone.”

Standing up, Windshear stretched her forelegs out, yawning. While she stretched, Heather blew out the candles in the lanters. She then followed her rider to the doorway, where she paused and peeked out into the hall. Seeing no one, Heather gave a small signal before leaving the room.

“Stay diligent, girl. I don’t know what sort of trouble I could get into if I got caught down there,” she whispered.

Windshear gave her an encouraging nudge forward before plopping down on the floor.

A small chuckle left her mouth and Heather shook her head. Hurrying down the stairs, she made sure to step lightly in case someone was on duty down here. ‘I don’t think they have guards down here since the dragons are locked up,’ she thought, creeping her way towards the door. ‘But it’s hard to say. Ryker may be bullheaded at times, but he’s also cautious. I wouldn’t doubt that there’s some sort of guard who’s on duty…’

She smirked to herself and reached into a pouch on her belt. From it, she pulled a small bottle and a cloth. ‘If I have to use this, Thora, I’ll pay you back someday.’

Taking her time to open the door, Heather poked her head into the room only to find one lone hunter standing with his back to the door. Before uncorking the bottle, she covered the lower half of her face with her cowl, not wanting to inhale any fumes that may arise from the mixture. She then clamped the cloth over the top of the bottle before slowly making her way into the room.

The guard was oblivious to the person sneaking up on him until she jumped on his back. He tried to cry out, but she covered the lower half of his face with the damp cloth. As he struggled to remove the invader, the smells of lavender, rosemary, and some unknown herb overwhelmed his senses. Soon, his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor in a snoring heap.

“Wow. No wonder she uses this stuff on herself sometimes,” she murmured, impressed by how quickly it worked. Corking the bottle, she tucked it back into her bag and started to walk through the large room.

The dragon brig was a dimly lit place, as Ryker wanted to keep the dragons as calm as possible. Both sides of the room were filled by large, dragon-proof cages. On the right side, all sorts of dragons could be found: Gronckles, Deadly Nadders, a couple of Scauldrons, et cetera. On the left side of the room, however, the cells had been modified into one, giant cell. Her brows furrowed in confusion; there was only a large pile of bones behind the bars.

‘Duh, Heather… _Boneknapper_ ,’ she scolded herself. ‘Of course she’s going to look like a pile of bones.’

She slowly walked up to the cage, her fingers nervously beginning to toy with the helm of her tunic. “Hey…Death Dance…? How you doin’, girl?”

The pile shifted and a large, horned skull turned to look at her. Behind the thick bone, though, Heather could see a pair of sad, blue-green eyes. Seeing this unfamiliar person, Death Dance shifted once more so that she was sitting up, though it was difficult thanks to her injured wing.

“Your wing’s still injured? I thought they would have splinted it or something…” she murmured, frowning. Shaking her head, she sighed. “Either way, I’m glad to find you still—ah!”

Death Dance had lowered her head to Heather’s level and her eyes were now narrowed in suspicion. She snorted, turning her head to get a better look at the scrawny human. She certainly didn’t _look_ like the people who had put her here…

“I’m a friend of Thora’s,” Heather told her, pulling her cowl down. “I’m checking on you for her.”

At that, Death Dance seemed to perk. A small noise left her mouth and it was then Heather saw that she was wearing a metal muzzle. She bumped the end of her snout against the cage, wanting to know more about her rider.

“Thora’s safe -for now,” Heather told her, daring to reach her arm through the bars. Death Dance hesitated for a moment, but pressed her snout into her palm. “She’s being kept on a different ship from you and she’s being forced to be a healer for these guys. But Dagur’s keeping her safe. He and the other Berserkers have been taking good care of her.”

What sounded like a sigh of relief left the dragon’s nostrils.

“She’s really worried about you, though,” she continued. “Ryker hasn’t told her anything about you since the two of you were captured. From the looks of it, he hasn’t taken that good of care of you…” Still frowning, she moved down along the cage, trying to get a better look at the injured wing. It was hard to see through the darkness, though. “Can you move it at all, girl?”

Death Dance slowly eased her wing out, allowing Heather to see it better. She also opened her mouth a little ways, managing to create a bit more light with her fire.

Heather was now able to see that the injury _had_ been treated, but not in the way she had expected. Instead of being splinted, it was covered in a strange, hard paste. The exposed skin and bones around the paste looked much cleaner than the rest of her body, so she knew that the wound was being kept clean.

‘That’s a weird way of dealing with a broken bone,’ she thought. ‘Whatever that stuff is either keeping the area fairly rigid or dulling the pain until a better treatment can be applied. This cage is small enough that Death Dance can’t move around too much, so the wing doesn’t get jostled _too_ bad…but still. If she’s not allowed to get up and move around, her wings could begin to atrophy like the bath dragon’s…’ She blinked before quietly chuckling to herself. ‘Seems Thora’s medical knowledge is rubbing off on me a bit.’

“I’m sorry I can’t be of any help,” she said aloud, tenderly stroking the unhurt part of Death’s wing. “I’ll be sure to tell Thora what’s going on though, alright? Ryker said we’re going to see Viggo in a few days, and that means being on land. Maybe she’ll be able to see you then and properly treat you?”

Easing her wing back against her body, Death Dance closed her mouth and nodded. Once more bathed in mostly-darkness, Heather closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cold metal of the cage.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this act up,” she murmured. “I can’t stand knowing that I’m helping contribute to all these dragons being captured and locked up. And fighting against my friends is _so_ hard -especially against Astrid! She’s my best friend…”

Shaking her head, she stood upright. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “But know that Thora loves you and is doing all within her power to keep you safe. You just got to hang on for her, alright?”

Death Dance quietly purred in understanding.

Heather patted the end of her snout once more before leaving the brig. Windshear met her atop the stairs, a cheery look on her face. The dragon nuzzled her before curiously sniffing her, able to smell the Boneknapper. She tilted her head curiously before simply leading the way to the upper deck.

Once they were out of the confines of the lower decks, Heather hopped onto her back and Windshear flew over to ‘Dagur’s’ ship. Heather had the feeling that, despite their alliance, Ryker wasn’t about to give up the ship to Dagur, even if he made good on his promise and managed to capture the dragon riders.

‘Otherwise, he and his men wouldn’t be here,’ she thought, sliding off Windshear’s back. ‘He would have gone back to a different ship while only leaving a handful of his men to keep an eye on Dagur.’ She passed by a few dragon hunters as she made her way to the stairs leading below deck. ‘And the hunters are always whispering to one another, as if they’re planning something. Maybe I should make it my next mission to try and do a bit of spy work on _them_ …’

She walked down the hall until she came to the door of Dagur and Thora’s cabin. Knocking, she waited for some sort of response. It came in the form of a loud grunt followed by Dagur calling out, ‘Come in!’, though his voice seemed weirdly muffled.

Opening the door, she found Dagur and Thora sitting at the table, bowls of stew in front of them. She mentally sighed in relief; Dagur’s muffled voice had led her to think they were doing… _other_ activities.

“Hey sis!” Dagur chirped. “Surprised to see you here! Normally, you’re relaxing in your cabin at this time.”

“Well, you know…I told you I’d come hang out with you earlier,” she replied, shrugging. “I see dinner’s stew again.”

“This time, it’s meatball stew!” he grinned, holding up a meatball on the end of his eating knife. “My men made it this time, so you _know_ it’s going to be edible.”

Thora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Your men have the same level o’ cookin’ skills as the hunters,” she told him.

He pouted. “I’ll have you know that Berserker food is _far_ superior to the food provided by the hunters.”

“It all tastes the same to me,” Heather chimed in, sitting down. “And that taste is neither good or bad.”

“Do you not have a tongue?” he asked, pouting. “Berserker food is delicious!”

She blew a raspberry at him. “I’ve got a tongue, but yours is just biased because you grew up with it.” Brushing her braid over her shoulder, she then turned towards Thora. “But, to be honest, I didn’t come here to talk about food. I came here because I managed to see Death Dance.”

Thora, having just spoon some stew into her mouth, accidentally inhaled a whole meatball in shock. She coughed, unable to breathe for a moment. Dagur was about to get up to help her when she punched herself in the gut, the force bringing the meatball back up and allowing her to properly chew it.

“How’s she doin’?” she wheezed, looking a bit pained after the experience. She shoved her bowl of stew away for the time being.

“She seemed alright. They’ve taken the walls out from between one side of cages and have her in there, but there’s not much room for her to move around. And…her wing still isn’t healed.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s not?!”

She shook her head. “No. The hunters have some sort of hard salve on it and they’re keeping it fairly clean, but that’s all I could really see, aside from it not being splinted. It still pained her to move it, too. I…I don’t know if it’s really healing correctly or at all.”

Thora clenched her jaw, a dangerously low growl leaving her throat. “Ryker _said_ they had her wing splinted an’ it was healin’ nicely!” Her knuckles were pale as she gripped her spoon. “What you’re sayin’ is that her wing _isn’t_ splinted an’ is healin’ in the wrong way, which can permanently disable her!”

Dagur and Heather glanced between each other, frowning.

“You’ll be able to see her soon, though,” Dagur quickly added, rubbing the back of his head. He winced; his wood-burn was beginning to hurt whenever he lifted his arm. “I was going to tell you earlier, but…well, you had that nightmare and we had that argument and then that cuddle session—”

“ _Dagur_.”

“We’ll be making port soon! Viggo called Ryker and me back to land to receive new orders, unload the dragons we have, as well as give us a chance to restock our supplies.”

Heather nodded in agreement. “I’m sure you’ll be able to see Death Dance then.” She reached over, setting her hand atop Thora’s. “But until then, you _can’t_ confront Ryker, alright? He’d know something was up if you suddenly had knowledge of her condition.”

“Ya mean I _can’t_ storm into his cabin an’ rip his throat out?” she grumbled, though her sarcasm was obvious.

“Sadly, no. Not yet, at least.” She gently patted the back of Thora’s hand. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t do it until I was sure Death Dance could fly again. That way, you could make a break for it.”

At that, Dagur frowned. “Make a break for it? But…she doesn’t have to leave! She’s under my protection!”

“But I’m still Ryker’s _prisoner_ ,” Thora reminded him. “The only reason I’m allowed t’ walk around the ship is because I agreed t’ temporarily be his healer. If I did somethin’ t’ harm him -like rippin’ out his throat-, his brother an’ his men are goin’ t’ want my head on a stake.”

“Then you _don’t_ bring him any harm.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Slouching forehead, she rested her head atop her arm. “Even though he deserves it.” Swearing, she closed her eyes. “Not just for he’s done t’ Death Dance, but for the hell he’s been puttin’ me through.”

His frown only grew larger. “What do you mean?”

She peeked up from her arm. “He an’ his men are verbally abusive. They treat me like some sort o’ monster an’ have been spreadin’ rumors ‘bout me throughout their crew. On top o’ that, if I refuse t’ do something, Ryker threatens Death’s life. If I call him out on his bluff, I find a sword at my throat. An’ it’s not just me. Heather is treated just as badly by most o’ them. If she so much as looks the wrong way at Ryker or one o’ his men, they’re questionin’ her loyalty an’ all that yak-shit.”

He stared at her, eyes wide in horror. “You…You never told me any of that happens! If I had known, I would have—”

“Dagur, you can’t stop it from happening,” Heather told him, her voice quiet. “Ryker is in charge here, whether you realize it or not.” She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye for some reason. “And because of that, the hunters are going to keep treating us all like yak-shit.” She didn’t know why, but she was beginning to feel pity towards Dagur and how blissfully oblivious he had been towards the attitudes of the hunters.

Dagur was silent as he stared into his stew. He knew this wasn’t the best of places for Thora or Heather to live, mostly because of all the violence that had been happening of late. But he had no idea they were being treated so poorly when he wasn’t around. Now that he did know, though…

Thora got up from her seat, going over to him. Kneeling down, she rested her head against his shoulder while her tail hugged him. She said nothing, however, instead just letting him know she was there for him.

“Do they…do they really not respect you?” he questioned, voice barely a murmur.

“Not at all.”

He swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists atop the table. “You are a chieftain and a queen of Berserk. They should be _bowing_ before you and _groveling_ at your feet!” He slammed his fist down on the table, the force making the bowls jump and nearly topple over. “How _dare_ they treat you like the scum atop a pond!” he snarled.

Reaching over, Thora cautiously placed her arm atop his arms, keeping him from lashing out again. “It’s not somethin’ ya can fix, Dagur,” she told him. “The hunters are bullies. As soon as they find out ya tried talkin’ t’ Ryker about their behavior, they’ll only get worse.”

“Thor’s hammer, _Ryker_ himself will get worse,” Heather mumbled. She flinched as Dagur suddenly looked at her, pure rage on his face.

“Then _what_ am I supposed to do?” he snapped. Seeing his sister recoiling before him, he instantly shed the anger and turned towards her. “I’m—I’m sorry, Heather. I didn’t mean…”

She nodded slowly, though she was still a bit hesitant to speak. “I know. You’re upset.”

“For good reason! My family is being disrespected!”

Both Thora and Heather let out small yelps of surprise as Dagur suddenly wrapped an arm around each of them. He pulled them against him in a bear hug, his eyes clenched shut. Not really knowing what to do, the two women hugged him in return.

“I’ll find a way to get you out of this,” he murmured. “I won’t let this go on much longer. I promise. I’m sorry you’re going through this because of me. You both deserve better…so much better than this.”

Thora hugged him a little tighter and kissed his temple. Heather also held him tighter, feeling a wave of guilt crash over her and not knowing why.


	39. 39

Now aware of how the hunters treated his wife and sister, Dagur did all within his power to find excuses to keep them with the Berserkers rather than the hunters. This, he found, ended up being a good thing: The hunters were less grumpy from not having to deal with the two women while the Berserkers adored working with them. He also found that keeping up his obliviously eager act was an easy feat to pull off; a little cackle here, a bit of bloodlust there, and Ryker was still convinced that he was ready to fight by his side at the drop of a helm.

But the closer they drew to Viggo’s base of operations, the more uneasy he became. Thora, he knew, would more than likely be forced to go ashore and stay ashore while he and Heather were forced back out to sea. With Heather’s skills as a spy and dragon rider, he began to wonder if maybe she would be sent with a different set of dragon hunters -ones that dealt with trade and hunting outside the archipelago.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stood on the prow of the ship. Viggo’s base was in sight; they would make landfall by noon. With a small sigh, he closed his eyes, pretending to enjoy the breeze as it wafted past him. He could smell hints of evergreen sap and wood smoke on it.

‘What am I going to do?’ he thought, holding onto a rope and pulling himself up to sit on the railing. ‘I want to get Thora and Heather _away_ from this place. Hellfire, _I_ want to get away from this place now. Why should I want to stay when I know how little respect we get?’ He frowned, his eyes narrowing somewhat as he continued to stare at the island. ‘I wonder what this Viggo is like…from what I’ve seen, Ryker seems almost afraid of him, which is odd. What kind of coward is afraid of his own little brother?’ He couldn’t help but snicker at the thought.

The laughter almost instantly stopped, though. ‘Viggo is the brains of this operation, so he’s got to be at least a _bit_ threatening. Then again, Hiccup is the leader of the dragon riders and they’re all far more muscular and battle-hardened than him. Maybe Viggo is the same way?’ He frowned. ‘If he is, then I’ll definitely need Thora’s help in trying to find a way to get her and Heather out of here…As smart as I am, even I need help sometimes.’

“What’re ya thinkin’ ‘bout?”

He blinked, more than a little surprised when Thora rested her head on his shoulder. Realizing that it was her, he smiled and relaxed against her. “Just…stuff,” he replied.

Her brow rose. “Ya hardly ever think about just ‘stuff’. Something’s on your mind.” She kissed his cheek. “Ya can tell me, ya know that, right?”

“Of course I do.” Turning, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m just…nervous about landing later.”

“You’ve got every right t’ be. None o’ us know what Viggo’s like, aside from Ryker’s told us -an’ that isn’t much.” Her tail snaked up his back, wrapping itself around his shoulders and stroking his cheek with its tuft. “Not t’ mention the fact that we’ll be _severely_ outnumbered if any sort o’ fight takes place.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t let a fight happen. There are too many lives at stake for that.”

“Good.” She winced, putting her hand on her lower back and leaning slightly backwards.

“You alright?”

“Aye. Just slept funny last night, so my back’s hurtin’.” She gave him a reassuring smile before moving to sit beside him. “Probably because ya had your legs all splayed out on the bed.”

He pouted, though smiled. “You were curled up in the corner, so I took advantage of having more space than normal.” He thought for a moment. “Until you got up three times to use the privy.”

She shrugged, grinning. “Couldn’t be helped. I had a lot o’ tea.” Her grin slowly faded as she watched Ryker come on deck. Not long after he appeared, Heather came on deck as well; both were heading towards her and Dagur.

“Dagur,” Ryker spoke, approaching them, “I’d like t’ talk with yeh.”

Dagur shrugged, looking up at him. “Alright. Start talking.”

He glanced at Thora from the corner of his eye. “I’d like t’ talk with yeh _alone_.”

Raising his brow, Dagur managed a fairly convincing laugh. “Sheesh, Ryker, don’t you know I’m already married?” he joked, sliding off the railing. “Ah, well…I can’t help that I’m a handsome guy.”

Ryker didn’t look the least bit amused; in fact, he looked rather annoyed. “No games. This is seriously.” Grabbing Dagur’s shoulder, he forcibly pulled him away to a quieter part of the ship.

Thora cocked her brow, turning herself ever so slightly so she could try to listen in on their conversation. Noticing this, Heather did her best to remain quiet as she took Dagur’s place.

“Damn. Too much noise from the crew,” she grumbled after a few minutes.

“I’m sure he’ll tell you what was said later,” Heather assured her. “It’s more than likely a quick lesson on how to act in front of Viggo.” She looked over her shoulder. “After all, we’ll be arriving soon. I doubt Ryker would like Dagur to make a fool of himself in front of Viggo right away.”

“I doubt that’ll happen. Dagur’s been on his highest guard ever since our ‘talk’.” She leaned back against the ropes, bringing one leg up onto the railing. “I think he’s really regrettin’ makin’ this alliance.”

“He should.” Heather wore a frown as she glared across the deck at the two men. “All the pain and damage he caused to get here…He _should_ feel regret. I’d like him to feel something a little more physical, like my ax in his gut, but…” Her face softened and she shook her head. “I think I’m actually growing _fond_ of my redheaded idiot of a brother…” Her nose scrunched up in distaste and she wore a bit of an angry pout.

Thora snorted. “Haven’t heard him called _that_ one before.”

“It’s accurate, though.”

“Most o’ the time, aye.” She shifted, her nose scrunching up as she attempted to get comfortable, but her back was having none of it. “Ugh. I may have t’ have ya step on my back in a bit…”

Heather frowned. “Is it sore again?”

“Aye. I slept in a weird position last night, so my lower back is achin’ somethin’ fierce. I tried some tea, but it didn’t help too well.” Sliding off the railing, she tried bending backwards again, but once more, it was to no avail. “Lovely. The day we have t’ meet a dangerous enemy, my back decides t’ act up…”

Also getting off the banister, Heather gently turned Thora around so that her back was facing her. “There’s a lovely irony in this,” she chuckled, starting to knead the muscles of her lower back. “Our healer is unable to tend to herself, so those of us who know very little about healing have to help her.”

“Not sure how it’s ‘lovely’, but aye, it’s certainly ironic.” She let out a quiet hiss as Heather’s knuckles dug into her sore muscles, forcing them to relax. “Thank you, by the way.”

She shrugged. “What’re sisters-in-law for?” She chuckled, using her free hand to brush her bangs out of her face. “Anyway, you’ve tended to my aches and pains enough over the last few months that I don’t mind giving you a little back rub. Crap, you’ve a giant knot right by your tail…”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Thora nodded. “Feels like it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “But you’re helpin’, that’s for sure.”

“Let me know if I get too painful.”

“Eh. Normally, I’d be havin’ the twins do this an’ they use their scrawny elbows t’ get the knots out. What you’re doin’ may hurt, but not nearly as bad as them.”

Her brow rose and she glanced up at Thora, despite knowing the other woman couldn’t see the look. “You…trust those two with rubbing your back?”

She nodded. “Trust ‘em with my life, t’ be honest. They’re my best friends.” Biting her tongue, she let out a quiet curse. “T’ be honest…I’m fairly certain I’m closer t’ them than I am with Hiccup anymore.” A sigh left her mouth.

“Oh?”

She shrugged. “Aye. Hiccup an’ I used t’ be nigh inseparable when we were younger. Once he found Toothless, though…” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Everything changed then. He got more friends -which was a good thing- an’ the citizens o’ Berk started t’ actually respect him rather than loathe him. Meanwhile, I was off with Gothi, learnin’ how t’ be a Völva.”

“At least it seems to be a natural distance that formed,” Heather commented, “rather than one being forced between the two of you.”

At that, Thora fell silent. Heather frowned, wondering if maybe she had said the wrong thing.

“In a way, it’s both,” she finally sighed. “It _was_ natural at first. He led the dragon trainin’ an’ I was in Völva trainin’. Then I went off t’ the mainland t’ learn more magic from my brothers…when I came back, we were entirely different people.” Heather unconsciously glanced as Thora’s missing arm. “An’ then Dagur broke out o’ jail.”

“Ah…now I understand what you mean.” She stopped kneading Thora’s back, needing to give her hands a break. “Dagur told me how the two of you ended up married…I can see how that would cause a rift between you and Hiccup.”

Sighing, she nodded slowly. “Aye…ever since then, he an’ I haven’t really seen eye-t’-eye on many things.” She rubbed the back of her neck, looking away from Heather as she bit her tongue. “Funny…since I’m supposed t’ be his advisor when he becomes chief. No tellin’ if that’ll happen now, though. Even my runes aren’t clear about it.” She then shook her head. “Sorry t’ unload on ya like that.”

A pitying smile came to her lips. “Sounds like you needed to get it off your chest. If you were to ask me, I’d say you’ve got more that should be gotten rid of, but I won’t press you. Just…if you _do_ need someone to talk to, I’ve got a willing ear.”

Thora smiled. “Thank ya.”

“Like I said: It’s the least I could do after all the help you’ve given me over the last few months.”

 

~*~

 

Walking on land was an almost surreal experience after having been at sea for so long. The ground remained still and yet, thanks to their sea legs, the sailors took wobbling steps as if they were still trying to keep themselves balanced against the sea. It was also strange for them to finally see structures that _weren’t_ rolling up and down with the waves and their eyes had some difficulty focusing on things.

“I always did hate the first few days of being ashore,” Dagur sighed, helping Thora down the gangplank. “Legs like boiled onions and vision like a drunkard…” He shook his head. “Why do I have the feeling that, as soon as I get used to being on land again, I’ll have to go right back out to sea?”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen _unless_ I go with ya,” Thora told him, keeping her voice quiet. She could hear all sorts of strange noises from where they were at, but many of them were distant -at least half a mile away. “There’s a lot o’ smithin’ going on in this place. An’ I can hear a lot o’ dragons…”

“Of course yeh hear dragons.” She turned, seeing Ryker coming down the gangplank with a chest on his shoulder. “We’ve landed in a dragon huntin’ _base.”_

Rather than risk starting an argument, Thora kept her mouth shut. Instead, she glared at Ryker as he walked past her and Dagur, though she knew he paid her no mind.

“Viggo won’t want t’ meet yeh until supper,” he said, setting the chest down on the ground. “I’ll have some o’ my men show yeh t’ where you’ll be stayin’ so yeh can freshen up beforehand.”

Dagur nodded. “Also gives us a bit more time to get our land-legs back.”

“True,” Thora murmured. As he looked up at her, Dagur could tell she was doing her best to listen to the background noises around them. Setting his hand on her arm, he led her further away from the ship so she could get a better listen.

“What do you hear?” he quietly asked.

Her face was grim. “Death. They’re killin’ dragons here. It doesn’t surprise me, t’ be honest, but…” She shook her head, sighing heavily. “It can’t be helped. Not now, at least.”

Entwining their fingers, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know ya will.” A new sound caught her attention and she turned. Her eyes shot open as she saw a familiar skeleton limping its way onto land from the other ship. “Death Dance!”

Dagur just barely unlaced their fingers before she took off at a run. He called after her and took chase. Her legs being longer, however, she reached Death Dance long before him. The dragon took him by surprise: Even after being chained up below decks with an injured wing for so long, she still had enough fight left in her to yank herself free of her captors and waddle over to Thora.

“Oh thank gods! I’ve been so worried about ya, Deathie!” Thora sobbed, clinging onto the end of her snout. “I’ve been so tempted t’ just storm over t’ your ship an’ free ya myself, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry I couldn’t. I’m sorry ya had t’ stay locked up like that!”

Death Dance nuzzled her, sitting down in the sand and making cooing sounds. Some hunters walked towards Thora, intending to separate her from the dragon, but they halted in their steps as Dagur shot them a dangerous look.

“You’ve kept my wife from her dragon long enough,” he told them, his voice perilously low. “Leave them be or I’ll gladly hand Thora my battle ax so she can deal with you herself.”

The hunters remained silent as they looked at one another. Not wanting to cause a scene, they shrugged and walked off.

Sighing, Dagur ran his hand through his hair before slowly approaching Thora and Death Dance. “Hey there, Death,” he spoke, managing to flash the dragon a small smile. “Glad to see you’re doing alright despite circumstances.”

Opening her eyes, Death looked down at Dagur. Something about him was different from when she last saw him, though she couldn’t place what it was. Whatever it was, though, had changed him for the better, and so she brought her tail around, using it to gently pull him closer to her and Thora.

“Heh, didn’t think I’d get _this_ sort of reaction from you,” he chuckled, patting her skull. “I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder…”

Thora quietly laughed as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Perhaps. Worked with me, after all.” She kissed his cheek before moving around to Death’s injured wing. “Alright, love…I know it’s goin’ t’ hurt, but can ya stretch your wing out so I can see how it’s doin’?”

A pained whimper left Death Dance’s mouth as she slowly stretched her wing out. The strange, hardened paste that covered her wing cracked and flaked as she did so, bringing a frown to Thora’s lips. Growling, she started to feel along the edge of the plaster, seeing if she could work her fingers between it and Death’s wing.

“What’re you doing?” Dagur questioned, his brows furrowing as he watched her.

“Whatever this _stuff_ is, it’s only hindering the healin’ o’ Death’s wing,” she growled. Finding that she was able to pry some of the cast away, she began to do such, taking care to not hurt her dragon. “Come help me with this.”

Moving beside her, he, too, started to pry the paste from Death’s wing. He did his best to copy Thora’s actions, though he found it difficult at times. In places, it had seemed like the paste had started to fuse with Death’s skin, making the peeling a slow, difficult process.

After nearly half an hour, Thora and Dagur had a pile of plaster bits between them. Death Dance was doing her best to power through the pain, but she had let out an occasional whimper to which Thora and Dagur instantly apologized and rubbed the side of her neck.

“It’s healed a little bit,” Thora murmured, running her hand along the bone, “but that’s _not_ a good thing. Her wing wasn’t in the right position t’ allow her wing t’ heal correctly…”

“What does that mean?” Dagur asked, eyes following the movement of Thora’s hand. He didn’t like how the skin was discolored wherever the plaster had been. It almost looked burnt…“Is she going to be able to fly again?”

Blowing a lock of hair from her face, Thora leaned back on her haunches. “I…I don’t know, t’ be honest. In order t’ get her wing properly positioned, whatever bit o’ bone that’s healed has t’ be broken again. Then, I have t’ pin her wing t’ her side. Dependin’ on if I can get my hands on the right ingredients for some potions-”

“Hand,” Dagur unconsciously corrected.

“- _Or not_ ,” she continued, ignoring him, “she can take anywhere from a few weeks t’ a few _months_ t’ heal back up t’ flyin’ state.”

“How do we pin her wing to her side? There’s not enough bandages in an entire _country_ to do that job.”

Closing her eyes, Thora raised her hand and stroked her necklaces. “Ropes. I’ll need ropes. Thick ones; not the ones used t’ haul up sails. Ones used t’ hold anchors an’ used t’ hold the mast in place.”

He nodded in understanding. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up from my ships.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Dagur kissed her forehead. “Anything for you.”

A half-hearted smile came to her lips as she watched him hurry away. It faded into a frown as she looked back to the wing before her. “I’m sorry, Deathie…but this is goin’ t’ _really_ hurt,” she warned, standing upright.

Death Dance turned her head, looking at her rider with utmost trust. She somewhat nodded before digging her claws into the sandy earth. As Thora did her best to gently maneuver her wing into position, she let out quiet hisses in pain. She clenched her eyes shut. There was a loud ‘crack’ and she howled in pain, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

“Shh, shh…It’s alright, love.” Thora bit her tongue as she did her best to carefully manuever Death’s wing into its natural resting position against her chest. “It’s alright. No more pain after this, I promise. Dagur’ll come back with those ropes an’ we’ll get this bound up nice an’ properly. Then I’ll try an’ make ya some medicine. How does that sound, love?”

The Boneknapper could only whimper quietly in return.

Unable to do anything until Dagur returned, she rested her forehead against Death’s neck. “I’m sorry, love,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I’m so sorry…I know it hurts. I’m tryin’ t’ keep ya from bein’ in much pain, but the way they had your wing bound…” Biting her tongue, she resisted the urge to shed any tears. She raised her hand, gently caressing the underside of Death’s jaw. “I’m so sorry…”

A soft, half-hearted purr left Death Dance’s mouth as she turned her head. She carefully nuzzled her rider, doing her best to keep her wing still.

“We’ll get through this,” Thora whispered. “I don’t know, but we will. We’ve been through worse.”

The sand muffling his steps from Thora’s ears, Dagur approached dragon and rider unheard. Standing still a moment, he gave them a pitying look. He didn’t like seeing his wife so upset. With a soft sigh, he continued forward. He carried three lengths of the heavy rope she had requested, though he wasn’t sure if even that would be enough.

“Hey…I got the rope,” he said, speaking quietly so he wouldn’t startle either of them.

Turning, Thora gave him a small smile. “Thank ya. Will ya help me out with bindin’ her wing?”

“Of course. We should tie these all together first, though.”

She nodded. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want t’ do it when we’re tryin’ t’ keep it taut.” From the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the sky; her heart skipped a beat. The excitement almost instantly turned into disappointment, though: What she had hoped to be her cousin was just Heather and Windshear coming in for a landing.

‘You’re such an idiot, Thora,’ she mentally scolded herself. ‘The others have no idea where you’re at, let alone the ability to help you when you’re surrounded by an _army_ of dragon hunters…’

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey! Hiccup! Hiccup!”

“Oh gods, can’t I get _any_ work done around here?” he sighed, rolling his eyes. It was about the fifth time he had been disturbed that day, leaving him irritated. With a frown, he set down his hammer and turned around, seeing the twins running down the boardwalk towards him. “What is it, you two? You didn’t set your hut on fire again, did you?”

They looked almost offended by his question. “We’ll have you know that the _first_ time we set our hut on fire was a complete accident,” Tuffnut scoffed.

“Yeah. We didn’t know Snotlout had dropped a jar of Monstrous Nightmare gel near our hearth,” Ruffnut added. “ _But_ this is more important than the state of our hut. We got another letter from Mystery Person!”

A small yelp left Hiccup’s mouth as Ruffnut thrust her hand in his face, shaking it slightly. Once his eyes were able to focus, he saw that she clutched a roll of parchment. He let out an oath of surprise before snatching the letter from her and unfurling it.

 

> _Riders-_
> 
> _Though there are many challenges ahead of us, with luck, you will have your witch back before Walpurgisnatch. She and her dragon will soon be reunited, though I fear Death Dance’s condition may prevent her from flying for some weeks yet._
> 
> _Again, I urge you to not look for either of them. It would only lead to disaster and, possibly, death._

“Walpurgisnatch? That’s two and a half months away,” he muttered. “She’s already been gone nearly three months; why can’t they just tell us where she is so we can get her!?”

 “Yeah, like we haven’t been thinking that since we got the first letter,” Ruffnut grumbled, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms, pouting.

Tuffnut slouched forward. “At least Mystery Person is being somewhat helpful, even if they are being a cryptic shit?” He tried to sound hopeful, though his posture ruined the optimism.

“‘Helpful’?” repeated Hiccup, his voice bland. “Tuff, this guy’s-”

“-Or gal,” Ruffnut quickly added.

“-All but taunting us,” he continued. “This is the fourth letter we’ve gotten telling us about Thora, but offering little else besides a warning to not look for her! How is _that_ helpful!?” Growling, he crumpled the letter up and threw it into the fire of his forge.

The twins looked at one another; his behavior had them concerned.

“Hey, you alright, H?” Tuffnut questioned, setting his hand on Hiccup’s shoulder.

“We know you’re stressed out by this. Hel’s gate, most of us are. But…you seem to be takin’ it pretty hard now,” Ruffnut added, also setting her hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “I mean, before it seemed like you were sort of indifferent to the whole thing and _we_ were the ones who were uptight and crotchety over this…But now you’re taking it to a whole ‘nother level.”

Closing his eyes, Hiccup rested his palm against his forehead. “I’m just…I’m just so overwhelmed by everything right now,” he grumbled. “Thora’s disappearance, the dragon hunters, repairing the Edge after Dagur and his men attacked it, trying to decipher the Dragon Eye…And, to top it all off, my dad’s been dropping hints that he wants to have the ‘talk’ with me!”

Ruffnut cocked her brow. “Uhh…what kind of ‘talk’ are we talkin’ about here? Like the chiefing talk or the dragons and the bees talk?”

He stared at her, no humor on his face. “Chiefing,” he retorted. “I’m a little old for the dragons and the bees.”

Tuffnut shrugged. “Hey, you never know. I mean, we overheard Thora giving that talk to Snotlout back around winter solstice. Apparently, Spitelout tried to give him the talk, but—Right. You’re not interested in that.” He smiled apologetically. “But hey! You know you’ve got friends, right? We’re here to help you shoulder the burden of all these messes.”

“Yeah,” Ruffnut nodded. “You know you can talk to us any time you need a vent. We know _some_ of what you’re going through, so we can at least relate a little bit. Not about the chiefing talk or the deciphering of the Dragon Eye…But worrying about Thora, having to rebuild parts of the Edge, and the hunters? Yeah, we _totally_ know what you’re going through.”

A heavy sigh left Hiccup’s mouth and he leaned back against the anvil. “I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled. “You two are her best friends, after all…I shouldn’t think that I’m the only one here missing her.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t,” Tuffnut told him. “We miss her so much, we started reading her books on healing and her dream journal. …Well, _Ruffnut’s_ been reading them and I’ve been trying to make the medicines. It’s not much different than cooking, really. You just have to be more precise and make sure—Right. You don’t want to hear _that_ either.”

“I tried a bit of magic though!” Ruffnut chirped. “I tried a summoning spell to summon her back to us! …It didn’t really work, though. I only ended up summoning a really weird looking bird.” She then frowned, a look of reflection coming over her face. “Or maybe it just flew in while I had my eyes closed. I don’t really know.”

To their surprise, Hiccup chuckled. A bit of relief spread over his features and he shook his head. “Leave it to you two to try something outside the box to get her back,” he sighed. “Don’t worry. I don’t think she ever quite mastered a summoning spell, either.”

The twins eased up once he had regained some humor. “Well, that’s a relief,” Ruffnut grinned. “Here I just thought I sucked at magic!”

“You _do_ suck at magic,” Tuffnut replied, his brow rising. He winced as she punched his shoulder.

“Better at it than you.”

“Well, _duh_. I’m a guy.” He crossed his arms and looked away from her, nose in the air. “If I did magic, the gods would kill me.”

“Maybe we should have you try out a couple of spells, then?” Ruffnut grinned.

Hiccup smacked his forehead. “Ruffnut, you are _not_ allowed to get Tuffnut killed before we get Thora back. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, these are the Berserker chieftains and their queen. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Thora, Dagur, and Heather stood before a man who bore little resemblance to Ryker. Despite being covered in armor, they could tell that he was a lean man who had managed to keep far more hair than his older brother. He wore a pleasant smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold and calculating.

Dagur thought he looked more trustworthy than his brother, but his gut told him that looks were deceiving. Still, he knew he had to be friendly for at least a little while. Who knew? Maybe Viggo _was_ more of an ally than Ryker…

“I’m glad to finally be able to put a face to the name,” Dagur replied. Heather nodded in agreement, though she remained silent.

Ryker nodded at Thora. “She’s the one I told yeh about. The prisoner.”

Viggo cocked a brow, looking up at him. “Please, brother. She’s our _guest_. It’s not often we get to host royalty, let alone someone of such rich lineage.”

Thora’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though she said nothing.

Motioning at the table before him, Viggo smiled once again. “Please, sit. It is dinnertime, after all. I’m sure you all are quite tired after adjusting to being on land all day.”

Not needing to be told twice, the three moved to take their seats along the table. When they had situated themselves, a servant came around, filling goblets with wine for them. A second servant busied themselves with placing plate after place of food on the table.

“Ryker’s told me quite a bit about you three,” Viggo said, picking up his goblet. He lightly swirled its contents. “I’m told you’re quite the warrior, Dagur. You can take on five fully-armed men on your own?”

A proud grin came to Dagur’s face. “Yep! As soon as we can walk, we Berserkers are trained in the art of war. By the time we’re in our teens, most of us are able to take on at _least_ three fully-armed warriors.” He lifted his own cup, sniffing its contents. Finding that it was mulled wine, he took a small sip.

It was the best mulled wine he had ever tasted.

His surprise at its flavor must have been obvious, because Viggo chuckled. “It’s from the Peloponnesus peninsula in Greece,” he told him. “It’s been infused with exotic spices I’ve acquired from countries quite far in the east.”

“It’s got a fairly unique flavor,” Heather commented after taking a sip. “What’s that warm spice I’m smelling?”

“Cumin,” Thora answered before Viggo. She had sniffed the wine only to set it down without drinking. “There’s also cinnamon in it; that’s probably the one you’re smellin’ most, as the cumin is a bit o’ an undernote.”

Viggo was visibly impressed. “My brother said you were a witch, but I hadn’t anticipated one so familiar with the spices of the east.”

“Ya learn a thing or two when ya live in a large trading port,” she replied. “Does there happen t’ be cumin in any o’ the foods?”

“No, my lady,” the servant, a young boy no older than thirteen, answered.

Leaning forward, Viggo served himself some roasted lamb. “May I ask as to why you’re concerned about the cumin?”

She hesitated. She didn’t want to give this man or his brother any hints about possible ways to kill her. At the same time, however, she didn’t want to be accidentally poisoned because they _didn’t_ know of her allergy…

“Cumin an’ I don’t get along,” she finally admitted.

Heather glanced at her. “I’m the same way with strawberries,” she found herself confessing. “I thought I was the only one who had bad reactions to food…”

Dagur blinked, pausing in his efforts to serve himself some mashed root vegetables. “Really?” Heather nodded. “Me, too!”

Viggo seemed to be amused by these revelations. “Then I’ll be sure that no cumin or strawberries are used in any of the meals that are served to you,” he told them. “After all, I wouldn’t want some of my greatest allies to pass away.” As he spoke, he glanced at Thora, though she didn’t notice. The slightest hint of a smirk came to his lips before he quickly forced it away.

Bringing some lettuce and radishes onto his plate, he leaned back and began to cut up his chunk of lamb. “Heather, Ryker tells me that you’re quite the dragon rider. I’m curious to know why you chose to side with us rather than Hiccup Haddock and his group?”

“They betrayed me,” she retorted, the words leaving her mouth as naturally as the truth. “I asked them for help and they refused. My brother here, however, has given me all the help I’ve needed as well as welcomed me and Windshear with open arms.”

As the others took turns answering Viggo’s questions and asking him some in return, Thora remained quiet. Listening to the conversations taking place, she did her best to gather as much information as she could. She noted the way that Viggo didn’t so much answer the questions asked of him as he retorted with vague replies that made it _seem_ like he had answered them.

‘He’s extremely intelligent and crafty,’ she thought. ‘Hiccup better be careful; this guy will prove to be a challenge for him, I’m sure of it. All of our other enemies have been mostly brawn rather than brain. But who needs to be muscular and threatening when you’ve got an older brother to do it for you?’

Ryker, she noticed, did very little talking; he was also taking in the conversations. He was also eating quite a bit of food and was on his third goblet of wine. Dagur and Heather seemed to be at ease as they ate and drank, though she was glad to notice they only sipped at the wine. The last thing they needed was for Dagur to become drunk.

‘Come to think of it,’ she told herself, ‘I’ve never seen him drunk. I don’t think now’s the best time to learn what he’s like while intoxicated anyway.’ She wiped her fingers on a cloth napkin before using a piece of bread to sop up some meat juices from her plate. ‘I hate to admit it, but this food is _really_ good…It’s almost as delicious as Kelda’s cooking. Nothing can beat her cream-cakes, though.’

When the meal was nearly over, Viggo leaned back in his seat; he was done eating, though the rest weren’t. “Have you all been shown to your tents yet?” he asked. His eyes followed the movement of the servant lad from earlier, watching as he took the bone-filled plate from the table. “Or were my men still setting them up for you?”

“Still setting them up,” Dagur answered before wiping his face with his napkin. “They were going to set them up closer to the beach, but the ground proved too loose to hold the poles. So they’re pitching them near the forest instead.”

Nodding in understanding, Viggo smiled. “Well, then, I do hope they’re fully assembled by the time you wish to turn in. I wouldn’t want our guests to sleep on the ground, after all.”

At that, Heather cocked a brow. “We wouldn’t have to,” she told him. “We’ve got our rooms back on the ship.” She then shrugged, leaning back in her seat with her goblet in hand.

“Speaking of which,” Dagur interrupted, “I don’t see why we can’t just continue using those rooms. They’re already made up for us and have all our things in them.”

It wasn’t Viggo who answered, but Ryker. “This island is our base o’ operations,” he told them, “an’ so it’ll be where yeh sleep an’ eat an’ all that stuff. Your rooms on the ship are going to become extra storage for when we go back out on missions.”

All three of them frowned.

“Then where are Dagur an’ Heather supposed t’ sleep when you’re all out on the sea?” Thora asked. “Down with the crew? Or are ya goin’ t’ throw a couple o’ cots in _your_ quarters an’ have them sleep in there?”

Ryker seemed somewhat flustered by her suggestion and only became more so when his brother let out a hearty laugh.

“Of _course_ that’s what Ryker intends on doing,” Viggo answered. “Dagur and Heather are chieftains, after all. It’d be ridiculous to have them sleep down with the crew.” He wore a pleasant smile as he glanced between Dagur and Heather. “In fact, I do believe their beds have already been moved into his cabin when the servants collected your belongings. You’ll find them in your tents. Though, I must apologize, Lady Gretasdotter. Ryker told me you were tall, but he wasn’t specific. Yours and Dagur’s bed may be a bit on the small side for you.”

“I’m sure I’ve slept in worse.” She pushed her plate away from her, signaling that she was done eating. Seconds later, her plate was whisked away by the lad.

Not long after, Dagur and Heather finished their meals as well. Ryker, however, kept eating; he had eaten much slower than the rest of the group and his plate only had a few bones on it. A different servant, this one a woman in her mid-twenties and dressed in a plain dress, came into the tent. She announced that she was here to escort the Berserker chieftains and queen to their tents for the night as well as show them where they could find the privy areas. As they stood up to leave, Viggo bade them goodnight, wishing them a good night’s sleep.

The three were led a couple dozen yards from the dining tent to a set of four tents. The two in the middle were larger than the others, but all four looked fit for royalty. The other two, they were told, were for Fylkir and Savage.

To their surprise, Death Dance and Windshear were curled up behind the tents, six barrels that had once contained fish laying between them.

Death lazily lifted her head, clacking her jaws twice at the group before resting her head on the ground once more. Windshear, on the other hand, got to her feet and trotted over to Heather. She sniffed her rider, trying to gather as much information from the different scents as possible.

“Go ahead an’ get all the rest ya need, girl,” Thora told the Boneknapper, walking up to her and rubbing the end of her snout. “You’ve got a lot o’ healin’ t’ do if ya want t’ get back into flyin’ condition.” She glanced down as Dagur walked up as well.

“Hey there, Death,” he smiled, reaching under her jaw and giving her a good scratch. “Get a couple of good naps in as well as a few dozen barrels of fish and you’ll be good as new.”

Death made her contented purring noise, tilting her head ever so slightly to allow Dagur better access to the underside of her jaw.

“Someone’s got Dagur trained well,” Thora chuckled, watching as Dagur knelt down and began scratching with both hands.

Heather came over, grinning. “Someone’s gotta. If not you, then Death Dance is the next best candidate. After all, if she’s not pleased with his behavior, she could just eat him.”

At that, Dagur pouted. “Oh, come on. Deathie wouldn’t eat me. She _adores_ me!” He moved a bit closer towards her neck, his entire body now shaking from the vibrations of Death’s purrs. “She’s just a giant puppy after all!”

Thora froze upon hearing his words. After a few seconds, however, she shook her head and quietly chuckled. “You’re the second person I’ve heard call her a giant puppy, besides myself.”

“Oh? Who else called her that?” Heather inquired.

“A friend from the mainland,” she answered. “Called Boneknappers giant puppies an’ Poisonous Piffleworms lil’ turds.”

Dagur and Heather looked at her, brows raised in confusion. “Poisonous Piffle-whats?” Dagur asked.

“Piffleworms. They’re small –‘bout the size o’ a human hand- but incredibly venomous. Apparently, their venom is strong enough t’ kill a man in less than a second.” She shrugged. “They’re found only on the mainland, though, in places with lots o’ paper.”

“Weird…I’ve never heard of them,” Heather murmured. “Are you sure they really exist?”

“Trader Johann’s shown me dead ones that he takes t’ Britannia to trade for woad.”

“Huh…” Standing up, Dagur brushed his knees off. “Well, it’s getting late. We should probably turn in for the night.” He stretched out his arms before curling them behind his head with a yawn. “Don’t know about you two, but I always find the first few nights of sleeping in a new place the hardest.” Slipping his arm around Thora’s waist, he started to lead her towards their tent. “Sleep well, sister! We’ll see you in the morning!”

Heather shook her head and rolled her eyes. “If I hear any sort of inappropriate noises coming from your tent, I’ll personally see to it that you find yourself sleeping with Savage, Dagur,” she warned him.

He pouted, looking quite offended. “Why would we do that _here_ of all places?” he retorted. “One, we’re sleeping in a _tent._ Two, we’re surrounded by people I’m not terribly keen on trusting at the moment.”

Thora, whose cheeks at darkened at Heather’s comment, nodded in agreement. “It’s too risky in too many ways. It’ll be hard enough t’ get a good night’s sleep knowin’ there’s a chance they could turn on us at any second.”

“Which is why I don’t like the fact that they put us in these tents,” sighed Heather. She brushed her braid over her should before shaking her head. “Well, there’s no helping it now, is there? We’ve got no choice but to be wary of _everything_ and _everyone_.”


	40. 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to be much crueler at the end of this chapter....but I decided to be a bit nicer :)

The first few days spent in the hunter camp had been uneasy ones. Though the trio managed to be friendly enough towards the hunters, they constantly felt watched. The feeling persisted, but after four days, they began to feel slightly more comfortable being there.

“Heather and I will be heading out with Ryker in two days,” Dagur said, pulling off his breastplate and tunic. Leaning over the table, he splashed cool water from a basin onto his face and neck. “We’re going to intercept some traders coming in from…Britannia, I think?”

Thora nodded, running a comb through her hair. “Do ya know how long you’ll be gone?”

“A week, two at the most.” He started scrubbing his skin with a damp cloth. “They’ve got gold that Viggo wants.”

At that, she frowned. “Oh. Lovely. So, he’s makin’ ya go í víking for him now? Shouldn’t that be somethin’ _he_ goes out t’ do? Or does he fancy himself some sort o’ hoity-toity jarl who should dirty his hands?”

Dagur snorted. “Hard telling with him,” he admitted before rinsing his skin. “To be honest, I’m not sure why he doesn’t just send one of his smaller ships out to do it.” Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his neck before going over to the bed. He kissed Thora’s cheek and sat down beside her. “Heather thinks he’s just using the traders as cover for a bigger mission he doesn’t want us backing out of.”

“That could be,” she replied. She let him take the comb from her hands so that he could do her hair instead. “If that _is_ the case, the two o’ ya need t’ be especially careful. The Grimborn brothers are hard t’ read, Viggo especially. I honestly can’t tell if what he says is the truth, a lie, or a mix o’ the two.”

“Noted,” he agreed. “I did manage to convince him to let us bring some my men along with us. I’m leaving Fylkir here, though. I need _someone_ to keep an eye on you.”

She smiled, her brow rising. “Oh? Ya don’t trust me t’ keep myself out o’ trouble?”

His brow rose as well, though his lips were pursed in a sarcastic expression. “Thora, my darling wife? Trouble follows you like a lost dragon hatchling.”

Rolling her eyes, she gently thwacked him with her tail. “It follows you, too,” she retorted.

“Hm. Does that mean trouble is our adoptive child?”

Snorting, she looked at him. “Ya can’t have a concept as a child, Dagur.”

He pouted. “I was _trying_ to make a joke.”

“Sorry. I’m used t’ bein’ around the twins when such bad jokes are made.” A cheeky grin appeared on her lips as he continued to pout. Leaning over, she kissed his forehead. “I kid, I kid.”

“Better be,” he grumbled. “I make _fantastic_ jokes…”

She rolled her eyes a second time, still smiling. “Most o’ the time ya do, love.” She felt him beginning to separate her hair into different parts. “Goin’ t’ braid it, are ya?”

He shrugged, though she didn’t see it. “I don’t know yet. You’ve got so much hair, it’s easier to work with it in smaller bits.”

“Tell me ‘bout it. I’ve actually been tempted t’ cut it lately. Not much, o’ course. Just a few inches.”

“Makes sense. Especially with summer coming soon. You wouldn’t want to be overheated with all this.”

“That has yet t’ happen.” She looked at the door of the tent, her brow rising as she heard footsteps approaching. They were too heavy to be Heather’s, but too light for Ryker. “Come in,” she called before the person could ring the little bell hanging outside.

Fylkir stepped into the tent only to pause when he found his chief shirtless and playing with the queen’s hair. “Ah…is now not a good time?” he questioned, a brow lifting.

“Depends,” Dagur answered. “What is it you need?”

“Word just came in. The traders who’re comin’ from Britannia are goin’ to be passing by sooner than expected. You an’ Lady Heather will need t’ leave with the others by _tonight_.”

Dagur’s brow furrowed. “What?! We were supposed to have a few _days_ before we had to leave!”

Fylkir gave him a pitying look. “I don’t know what t’ tell you, sir. I was there when the dragon arrived with the letter, so I know it’s not some sort o’ ruse.”

“That you _know_ of,” Thora sighed. Seeing the confused look he gave her, she continued, “It’d be rather unlikely the brothers did this, but they could have sent someone just t’ the other side o’ the island or even a few miles out t’ sea so it’d just _look_ like the dragon came from a different place.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s what Hiccup would do if he wanted t’ get someone off the island faster.”

“Pft. Viggo is _way_ smarter than Hiccup,” Dagur told her, an arrogant tone to his voice. “Though, I suppose it _is_ a good plan…but only if someone were desperate.” He continued to braid her hair, starting to look for something to tie it off with.

“This dragon flew more than just a few miles, or so it seemed,” Fylkir told them, hesitation to his voice. “…It died o’ exhaustion when it got here.”

Thora’s eyes widened in horror as she looked up at him. “It…it _died_? O’ _exhaustion_?” she whispered. Her hand unconscious rose to cover her mouth.

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m afraid so, my lady. An’ I know it wasn’t that weird poison they’ve got that did it, either. The poor thing was pantin’, droolin’, an’ was incredibly warm t’ the touch. It had worked itself t’ death.”

A heavy sigh left Thora’s mouth and she rubbed her face. “Lovely,” she grumbled. “As if him havin’ dragons killed left, right, an’ center wasn’t bad enough. Now the ones he’s got enslaved are dying!” Behind her, her tail twitched angrily. “I haven’t wanted t’ hurt someone in a long time, but right now? I _really_ want t’ teach him a lesson.”

“Which is _exactly_ why I’m leaving Fylkir here to keep an eye on you,” Dagur told her, his voice bland. Finding a length of cord, he started to tie off the end of her hair. “I don’t want to come back here to find out he’s had my wife shipped to the mainland after selling her to troll hunters or something…”

“I won’t let her do anythin’ out of sorts,” Fylkir promised. “If anything, I’ll do my best t’ keep her here in the tent or just outside with Death Dance.”

She let out a small sigh, letting herself fall backwards on the bed. “Great. Means I can keep tryin’ t’ get my magic back without anyone askin’ if my stomach’s upset or if I threw my back out. I’m bein’ entirely serious, by the way.”

Dagur frowned. “You’re _still_ having problems with it?”

“I told ya: I have anti-magic poison in my _blood_ thanks t’ these.” She pointed at the scars on her throat, earning a small noise of surprise from Fylkir. “The only reason I can use magic on the Edge is because the magic all but _forces_ me t’ use it. It’s like that island has a surplus o’ magic restin’ within it. Everywhere else, though? No such luck.”

Fylkir shifted again. “That…is really quite strange. Isn’t there an antidote or somethin’?”

“Nope. I’ve… _tried_ makin’ some over the last year an’ a half, but it’s been t’ no avail.” She bit her tongue. “An’, er, I _don’t_ want t’ be tryin’ t’ make any more antidotes, t’ be honest…Not after the last one.” She rubbed her neck, glancing away with an expression that betrayed her embarrassment.

“…Do I _want_ to know?” Dagur questioned, voice bland.

She smiled innocently, earning a small chuckle from Fylkir. “Probably _not._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright, says here we need fehu, ansuz, raido, pertho, and mannaz if we want to do a scry.”

“Are you sure? When I read it, I think I saw it mention kaunaz and dagaz.”

“I’m sure. It lists them right here. See?” Pointing at the page, Ruffnut tapped the spot where a diagram of five runes was drawn. “Fehu here, ansuz here, pertho there, mannaz to the right, and raido here in the middle.”

Tuffnut cocked his brow as he watched Snotlout pull out the stones Ruffnut mentioned. “Are you sure about this, Ruff? You’ve never done scrying before. What if something goes wrong?”

She pouted. “I’ve got step-by-step instructions in the palm of my hand,” she told him, motioning to the book in her lap. “How can anything go-”

Snotlout suddenly clapped his hand over her mouth. “Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence, young lady!” he scolded. “Normally, I’m fine with you and Tuffnut jinxing yourself, but not this time! You’re about to do _magic_ and there’s no way in the nine realms I want you to mess that up. Who knows what you could unleash if you so much as _breathe_ wrong!? I certainly don’t want to find out!”

Rolling her eyes, she shoved his hand away. “I’ve read this spell over a dozen times already,” she assured the two men. “That’s why I’ve got this pile of incense and silver basin of water at the ready.” Grabbing the stones, she laid them out around the basin. Raido, however, she placed in the center of the basin. “So, as long as the two of you remain quiet, I _should_ be able to do this.”

Crossing his arms with a pout, Snotlout plopped down on the ground. Tuffnut shrugged, also sitting down.

Using a candle to light the incense, Ruffnut scrunched her nose up once she blew it out, leaving just a red ember. the scent was far too heavy on the floral end for her liking. Regardless, she closed her eyes and took in deep breaths of the smoke. She started to quietly chant, trying her best to invoke the help of Frigg and Freya.

After a few minutes, she started to feel a slight tingling in her palms -which was good. That was _supposed_ to happen. Next, she asked the goddesses what she wanted help divining: Thora’s location. Her head now feeling light from the smoke and her hands feeling like they were being pricked by a thousand needles each, she leaned forward and stared into the basin.

She saw nothing.

Well, she saw the rune stone, but besides that, she saw nothing. Ruffnut waited a few more minutes, trying to keep her eyes from crossing as she continued to stare into the water. Still, no image appeared before her.

Behind her, Snotlout shifted impatiently. He knew something had gone wrong; why else was Ruffnut talking? She should have been describing _something_ to them by now!

With a quiet growl, he got up and shoved Ruffnut out of the way. She yelled at him as she landed on her back, but he ignored her. Smacking a palm down on the table, he pointed up at the sky with the other hand.

“Hey, whoever’s listening up there!” he snapped. “I don’t care if you’re busy or if you’ve got nothin’ better to do than scratching your ass! Four of us have bad rashes that won’t go away. Two of us can’t stop sneezing for some reason. And _one_ of us can’t seem to regrow his missing leg! You’re going to give us _some_ sort of hint as to where our damned witch is at and you better do it soon! You hear me?”

“That’s _not_ how you’re supposed—” Ruffnut abruptly fell silent as Snotlout held his hand up.

“ _Your_ way didn’t work. I’m doing this the _Jorgenson_ way,” he told her. “Because we Jorgensons _always_ get answers.” With another growl, he stared down into the basin.

Like Ruffnut, he saw nothing at first. As he glared harder at the water, he thought he could see some shapes beginning to form. Then, a full-blown picture appeared before him.

“Aha!” He cackled. “I see her! She’s in some sort of tent!” he told the twins. “She looks pretty healthy, though tired. There’s…a Berserker with her? He looks like one of Dagur’s generals. They’re talking; big guy managed to make Thora laugh. Oh, now there’s someone else coming into the tent. Huh. This guy looks like an evil version of Hiccup if Hiccup were cool looking.”

“That makes _no_ sense, you know that, right?” Tuffnut said.

“Yeah. There’s no way Hiccup could ever look cool,” Ruffnut agreed.

Snotlout shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Cool-Evil-Hiccup-Guy is _definitely_ a dragon hunter, though. He’s got the spikey armor and the smudged kohl around his eyes. Or maybe dragon hunters are all just _really_ tired…”

Ruffnut smacked her face. “Is there anything else _important_ you can tell us? Like, oh, I dunno: Is she on a ship or on land? Is Death Dance with her?!”

“I don’t see Death Dance, but she’s definitely on land; she’s standing on grass. Cool-Evil-Hiccup-Guy is leaving now and she’s—Heh, she’s flipping him the dragon. Not sure he saw it, though. Hope he did.”

“So, we know she’s in fairly good spirits,” Tuffnut sighed, sounding more than a little relieved.

“Yeah, but how are we supposed to figure out where she is just from _that_?” Ruffnut frowned. “She’s on land with Berserkers _and_ hunters. That could be _anywhere_!”

“Hmm…Not really,” Snotlout said, watching as the image faded away. “Cool-Evil-Hiccup-Guy looked pretty important. Both Thora and the Berserker sat up straighter and tried to look more important and even a bit intimidating. On top of that, the guy had that fist crest on his belt. So far, we’ve only seen Ryker with that crest. So, that means this guy is fairly important. No doubt he’s one of the leaders of the dragon hunters.”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut looked at each other. “Which means they’re probably at some sort of base,” they chorused.

“So, we find the hunter base, we find her,” Tuffnut continued.

“And if we find her, we _could,_ possibly, find Death Dance as well,” Ruffnut added, grinning.

“But _how_ are we going to find this place?” Snotlout asked. “Hiccup won’t let us fly anywhere by ourselves and there’s no way we can disguise ourselves well enough to hide on one of the hunter ships we find.”

Ruffnut shrugged. “We could _let_ ourselves get caught?” she suggested.

“ _Not_ happening.”

The three whipped around to find Hiccup standing in the doorway. He wore a frown as he stepped into the house, Toothless and Astrid following behind him.

“How many times do I have to tell the three of you to _stop going through Thora’s things_?!” he cried. Crouching down, he plucked the spell-book from the ground. “If she found out you’ve been messing with her stuff-”

“We managed to find out something, though!” Snotlout interrupted. “We found out she’s with hunters _and_ Berserkers!”

At that, Astrid cocked a brow. “…How did you find this out?” she asked, her voice betraying her skepticism.

“I did a scry!” Ruffnut chirped. It was a lie, of course, but she knew well enough that if someone _other_ than her and Tuffnut found out that Snotlout had _somehow_ done magic, he could get in _serious_ trouble. “She’s on land and, uh, there was a really important person she was talking to. He had the hunter crest on his ah…on his…” She bit her lip, trying to remember the article of clothing Snotlout had said bore the crest. “On his…”

“On his belt,” Snotlout finished for her. “Don’t mind her. She’s still a little out of it from the incense.” He dismissively waved his hand. “But yeah! So, we’re thinking she’s being held at some sort of dragon hunter base.”

Astrid looked at Hiccup. “It’s possible,” she told him. “Thora’s not dumb. If she got captured by our enemies, she would have used her mainland status to ensure her safety. Not to mention, if there are Berserkers around…”

“Then _Dagur’s_ around,” Hiccup sighed.

Nodding, Astrid leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. She then looked back at the other three. “What I _do_ doubt, though, is that these three managed to do any sort magic and _not_ cause some sort of explosion.”

Ruffnut pouted. “Hey! I’ve learned a thing or two from Thora over the last year or so!” she scolded. She ignored the side-eye Snotlout was giving her. “Plus, she’s got the directions written in plain, simple Norse in that book.” She pointed at the book Hiccup was setting back on the table. “She’s got it written out so nicely, even our _dad_ could do a scry without fail.”

“Not that he would, of course,” Tuffnut added. “Since he’s a man and, well, men who are caught doing magic _usually_ get exiled…” He scratched the back of his neck with a shrug.

Both Astrid and Hiccup looked at him, their brows raised. Hiccup then shook his head, sighing.

“So, _if_ what you’re saying is true and Thora’s being held on an island somewhere, then it means we have a chance of finding her,” Hiccup said. “But the question _which_ island is she being held on?”

“Now _that_ , my dear Hiccup, is an excellent question!” Ruffnut chirped. “I wish I could answer that, but alas. I only saw her in a tent.”

Astrid smacked her forehead. “You’re _such_ a big help…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So, tell me, Lady Thora, why you chose to come back out to these parts rather than stay on the mainland? As I understand it, your life in Enda Fjarðarins was far more… _befitting_ a woman of your status.”

Thora glanced across the table at Viggo as she sipped a bit of wine. “Berk is an’ always _will_ be my home,” she replied, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “Enda Fjarðarins may be where my brothers live, but it’s a place to go for holiday.” She didn’t very much want to be dining with him, but having no excuse _not_ to, she had reluctantly agreed.

He nodded in understanding. “I can’t say I know the feeling too well, but I can understand that reasoning.” He took a long drink from his goblet. “Were you present for the war that took place or did that happen after you returned to Berk?”

She bit her tongue; she _so_ badly wanted to reply with sarcasm, but knew better. “Death Dance and I fought in it,” she replied, “though, I mostly acted as a healer.” She took a bite of roasted carrot; for some reason, her stomach didn’t like the idea of eating meat lately, so she had her plate piled high with vegetables, bread, and cheese.

“Interesting. I had heard reports of a dragon being part of the action, but none of them said it had been a Boneknapper.” He watched her brow rise as she glanced at him, making him chuckle. “Yes, I have had dealings with the Purgo Sanctus, though not of late.”

Her brows furrowed. “Purgo Sanctus…?”

“The ones who attacked the city. It means ‘Cleansers of Holiness’ in Latin. They’re employed by the Roman religious leader, the Pope.”

“I’ve only heard them called veiðimenn or troll-hunters.”

“Both are apt names, though not _quite_ right.” He took another drink of his wine before beginning to carve up a hunk of meat. “But, yes, I have had dealings with them and that’s how I came to know of the war and what took place. However, I think that’s enough talk of the war; it’s probably not your favorite topic of conversation.”

“Not in the least,” she replied, tone dry. She shoved a chunk of beet in her mouth to keep herself from saying anything else.

The corner of his mouth turned upward in the slightest hint of a smirk. “Then let us talk about your husband, shall we?”

Her brow rose once more, though she said nothing.

“You’re an intelligent woman,” he continued, “there’s no doubt about that. You _are_ a witch after all. So, then, you must realize that Dagur isn’t the most… _reasonable_ of men.”

She set her spoon and knife down, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly at him. “Enough o’ your superfluous wordin’, Viggo. Speak plainly.”

He chuckled, lacing his fingers together as he watched her take a drink of wine. “I want to know why you, a woman of great magic and intelligence, decided to marry him, a man of unstable mind and questionable ethics. Was it an arranged marriage? Or did you freely give him your hand?”

“And just why would ya want t’ know somethin’ like that?” she replied. “Or should I start bein’ wary o’ unwanted advances from ya?”

At that, he outright laughed. “You have no need to worry about that sort of thing. I have no interest in romance. I’m just curious is all. It’s not often a person chooses to marry someone with the title ‘the Deranged’, after all.”

She was silent for a moment, tearing a chunk of bread from the loaf and using it to sop up some juices from her plate. “I married him t’ keep my cousin from becomin’ his slave,” she said after eating the bread. Despite the protests her stomach had made, she sliced herself a bit of chicken. She knew she needed the meat; cheese and vegetables alone wouldn’t keep her strength up.

“You cousin?”

“Aye, my cousin. Hiccup. I believe you’ve heard o’ him.”

Upon hearing the news, Viggo’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “You’re Hiccup Haddock’s cousin, are you?”

“In bond, not blood.”

He nodded in understanding, leaning back in his seat. Thoughtfully stroking his beard, he watched as she started to carve her chicken breast into tiny pieces. “So, the leader of the dragon riders is your cousin…And because of him, you married Dagur?”

“Aye.” She stabbed a piece of chicken with her knife before also stabbing a bit of carrot and beat as well. Perhaps if she had small enough bites and covered it with other food… “Though, I’m not about t’ betray him an’ his whereabouts.” She noticed how her stomach accepted the tiny bite of chicken. As it grew fuller of food and wine, though, she started to feel a bit tired.

“Oh, of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. Witches -and trolls, for that matter- are known for their loyalty.” He went back to eating now, trimming a bit of fat from the hunk of meat. “But, back to Dagur. You said you married him to keep him from enslaving Hiccup? How did that come about?”

She let out a heavy sigh; she was growing annoyed and bored by all his questions. “Does it really matter?” she dared to retort. “I’m his wife an’ I’ve grown t’ love him. That’s all ya really need to know.”

“I meant no offense,” he said, voice bearing an apologetic tone. “As I said earlier, I’m merely curious is all. The two of you are an odd match. Then again, the gods have arranged stranger things before. But, allow me one, final question.”

Thora said nothing, though she looked up at him, brow cocked. Her limbs were beginning to feel heavy; she thought nothing of it, however. Her body had been doing weird things the past couple of months. ‘Probably from all the stress I’ve been under,’ she thought.

“Does he care for you in the same way you care for him? Or, as a witch, a troll, _and_ a princess, are you merely one of the many trophies he’s won over his lifetime?”

“Of course he does,” she replied. “It’s the whole reason I used our marriage as a way t’ keep Hiccup away from him.” Setting her spoon down, she bit back another yawn. “I think it’s _my_ turn t’ start askin’ the questions.”

“Be my guest.” She didn’t like how arrogant his smirk was.

“Who’s your commander?”

His brow rose, but the smirk remained. “A man who could make even Thor shake in his boots.”

Thora didn’t look at all impressed. “I highly doubt that,” she told him, voice bland. “Why dragons? Why not normal animals like deer, boar, an’ bear?”

“While the aforementioned animals are certainly easier to hunt down, they don’t earn nearly the same sort of profit brought in by dragons,” he answered. He noticed how there was a slight slur to Thora’s words. “I’m sure you’re aware of how wonderful dragon bone is when thrown into potions?”

“Aye, but no need t’ kill dragons for it when there’re plenty o’ dragon graveyards around.” She paused for a moment, closing her eyes. Something wasn’t feeling quite right.

Viggo cocked his head. “Is everything alright, Lady Thora? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” she said, opening her eyes. It was a lie, but she wasn’t about to show weakness in front of him. ‘He’s done something to the food,’ she thought, glancing down at her plate. ‘Or the wine. No. Not the wine. We’re drinking wine poured from the same pitcher. What I’m feeling can be any number of poisons…’

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. Now, back t’ my question: Why not use bones o’ already-dead dragons?” She clenched her teeth; her head was starting to feel… _wavy_.

“The fresher the bone, the stronger the powder,” he replied with a shrug. “Not to mention, skeletons don’t have much more use besides bone powder and jewelry. There are plenty more parts of a dragon that are sought after by witches and warlocks -and, of course, the occasional warrior. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Thora swallowed hard. The world was now swimming before her eyes and her limbs felt impossibly heavy. Her eyelids, especially, felt like lead weights.

Viggo stood, his wine goblet in hand. “I’d ask if you’d like a healer, but alas, you’re the only one on the island currently,” he chuckled, walking towards her. “Don’t worry, though: It’s just a simple knock-out draft. I’m surprised it took so long to affect you! Perhaps I should have used more bone powder?”

“Wh-why are you doin’ this?” she growled, unable to stop herself from slouching backwards. Her eyes tiredly followed Viggo’s movements as he approached her.

He reached out, lightly plucking up a lock of her hair. “I’m not a man who appreciates traitors,” he replied. He was surprised by the softness of her hair; with how wild it was, he had expected it to be wiry. “I’m sure you can understand. It’s just good business to not tolerate them, after all. However, I can be a man of second chances if I know the person can be useful enough.” Releasing the hair, he found her still looking at him, though it was obvious she was doing her best to stay awake.

“The Berserker chieftains are going to get such a second chance,” he continued, swirling the contents of his goblet. “They will not go unpunished, though I am sorry to say that _you_ are going to bear the brunt of their punishment. I don’t believe there is anything I can do to either of them that will have the same effect.”

“What’re ya—what’re ya goin’ t’ do t’ me?” she mumbled, her eyelids finally beginning to droop.

“Oh, I assure you: You’ll find out when you wake up.”


	41. 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very cruel in this chapter. 
> 
> Please rest assured, it hurt me just as much as it's going to hurt you.

Thora’s brows furrowed as she started to wake up. She let out a soft whimper as her consciousness brought on an alarming amount of pain. Her jaw felt as if it were on fire, but at the same time, it throbbed dully. As she raised a hand to feel her jaw, she heard someone move towards her from across the tent. She let out a curse as her fingers pressed into her skin; it was puffy, swollen, and awfully sensitive.

“Don’t be doin’ that, Lady Thora.” It was Fylkir and he sounded worried. “I was only _just_ able t’ stop the bleedin’ a bit ago.”

“Bleeding?” she mumbled, opening her eyes. It hurt to talk and her body felt like lead weights. “What happened?” She found herself lying in bed, somewhat propped up by pillows.

Fylkir didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he gently pulled her hand away from her face before she could try touching the area again. “They took your hair, Lady Thora. An’ your tusks.” His voice was filled with guilt and shame and he was unable to look her in the eye.

Her brows furrowed once more; her hair and tusks? What did he mean? “…What?”

“While I was waitin’ for you outside the dining tent, some o’ Viggo’s men came up and restrained me,” he explained, voice quiet. “And then Viggo himself came out of the tent, followed by even more men who were dragging you. I tried t’ get free so I could get to you, but three against one isn’t a very fair fight when the three’ve got the one pinned.”

He rubbed his face; it was obvious he hadn’t slept for some time. How long had she been out? “Viggo started talkin’ about how it was hard to find trustworthy allies an’ if he couldn’t find ones who were _willingly_ trustworthy, he’d _make_ them become trustworthy. I don’t remember much of what he said, t’ be honest, because as he was talking, he was cuttin’ off your hair.”

She raised her hand again, this time feeling the back of her head. Swallowing hard, she found her hair to be only a few inches long.

“Then he grabbed the pliers…and, well, I’m sure you can feel the results o’ what he did with them.” Finally able to look at her, he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect ya better.”

She shook her head, but quickly regretted it. The movement made her jaw throb even more. “Not your fault,” she told him, pushing herself so that she sat up all the way. “It’s more my fault than anythin’. I should have recognized the signs o’ bein’ given the sleeping potion.” Wincing, she shifted, bringing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Did…did they treat the wounds at all?”

“No, my lady. I tried my best t’ clean them and stop the bleedin’, but…I’m no healer. I did know t’ rinse your mouth out with wine, though.”

“Thank ya. Could ya bring me my satchel? An’ get me some clean water?”

He nodded, doing as he was asked.

Going through her bag, Thora looked for her mixtures that would help with pain and with swelling. Fylkir watched her curiously; she took the news far better than he expected. In fact, she looked utterly calm as she examined the contents of one of the jars before tipping a bit of it into the bowl of water he had brought her. But as he continued to observe her, he started noticing that her hand was shaking and that her skin had yet to regain the color it had lost when he told her what had happen.

It was as she tried to drink the contents of the bowl that she broke down. The medicine felt like fire in her mouth despite containing only ingredients that were cool and soothing. Dropping the bowl, she tried her best to swallow as much of the medicine as she could, but most ended up dribbling out of her mouth and down her chin. Her dressed, already soaked by the fallen bowl, was further wetted.

Not knowing entirely what to do, Fylkir sat beside her and began to gently rub her back. She flinched at the contact, but eased up when she remembered it was him and not one of the hunters.

“I want t’ go home,” she choked out. “I want—I want t’ go back t’ Berk an’ be around people who _won’t_ hurt me. Who _don’t_ want t’ hurt me.” She tried, in vain, to wipe away her tears. “Everywhere I go outside o’ Berk, people either want me dead or want me as some sort o’ trophy.” Her jaw shook, making her quietly hiss in pain.

Fylkir said nothing as he continued to rub her back. He did, however, pull a handkerchief from his belt, offering it to her. She quietly thanked him as she took it and blew her nose.

“I…I know Dagur wants me t’ live with him on Berserk,” she murmured after some minutes. “An’ I do. But…I don’t know if I can. Not yet, at least. The last six or seven years have been a whirlwind. So much has happened…” She closed her eyes. “Too much has happened. Is _still_ happenin’. An’ it just keeps comin’ an’ comin’ an’ comin’. It’s like the gods want t’ throw as much shit as they can at us in as little time as possible.”

He nodded in understanding. “They certainly do like t’ push us t’ our limits at times.”

“I don’t know how much more o’ it I can take. I really don’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Far be it from me to criticize a harebrained idea, but are you two _sure_ we should really be doing this? I mean…We’re going behind Hiccup’s back.”

Ruffnut glanced over her shoulder at Snotlout and Hookfang. “When have _you_ ever objected to going behind _Hiccup’s_ back?” she grinned.

“Yeah!” Tuffnut agreed. “It’s not like we really have any other choice, though. Scrying only got us so far. If we want to get Thora back -and, by association, find out where the dragon hunters have their base- we gotta capture a hunter or two!”

“It’s really quite simple,” Ruffnut said. “Capture a hunter or two, interrogate them and possibly rough ‘em up a little, and then drop ‘em off in the middle of the ocean! Easy-peasy!”

Snotlout stared at the twins, his brow slowly rising and betraying his lack of enthusiasm. “Yeah, but how are we supposed to _find_ some hunters to interrogate? And how are just the three of us going to kidnap one or two of them in order to _get_ the information?”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut looked at each other, both wearing the same, matching expressions of dullness.

“I think he’s doubting our ability to come up with sound plans,” Tuffnut said.

Ruffnut looked up at Snotlout. “Are you doubting our ability to come up with sound plans?” she repeated, sounding highly offended. She put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. “Or are you doubting our ability to be stealthy?”

“Or, perhaps, you’re questioning our ability to work together as a trio without Hiccup or Astrid’s guidance?” Tuffnut added in, crossing his arms over his chest.

Snotlout closed his eyes and slouched forward, resting his head between Hookfang’s horns. “ _Why_ did I agree to this?” he groaned. “Anything the two of you come up is sure to end in disast-”

“Hunter ship on the starboard wing!” Tuffnut suddenly cried out.

“That’s _portside_ , idiot,” Ruffnut corrected. “Port is _left_ , star is _right_!”

Sitting upright, Snotlout peered over the left side of Hookfang. Far below them was, indeed, a ship bearing the flaming fist insignia of the dragon hunters. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment. The twins were still bickering over portside and starboard.

“Listen up you two!” Snotlout suddenly snapped.

The twins looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“I’ll fly down first, acting as a distraction so the two of you can sneak down and cover the deck with Barf’s gas, alright? Stay in the sun’s path so you’re harder to see. Then, when deck is fogged over, Hookfang and I will swoop in and grab a couple of guys. Got it?”

Before either twin could argue against the plan, he steered Hookfang towards the ship. As they approached, Hookfang blew a stream of fire at the ship, purposefully missing the wood by just a few feet. Shouts rang out on the deck and Hookfang swooped around, once more spewing his fire.

The hunters almost managed to hit him with a round of arrows, but he incinerated them before any could reach him. Snotlout grinned; _that’s_ why his dragon was the best dragon.

Thick, foul-smelling fog started filling the deck of the ship. Panic arose as the hunters were left unable to see their foes through the gas. Some were shouting to jump overboard before the gas was ignited. It was the ones who did jump into the ocean that Hookfang snatched up in his claws.

Despite badly wanting to spark the gas, Barf and Belch flew off, hurrying after Hookfang. They knew better than to dawdle, even if their riders wanted them to.

Snotlout was left utterly shocked. Peeking over the side of his dragon, he saw the two, screaming hunters dangling from Hookfang’s claws. Behind him were the twins, whooping and hollering at their job well done. Pushing his helmet back slightly, he scratched his forehead in awe.

“We…actually did it?” he mumbled. “Huh. I…honestly can’t say I was expecting that.”

“We _told_ you this would work!” Tuffnut cackled. “You gotta have more faith in us, Snot-man! The three of make a good team!”

Ruffnut was grinning triumphantly. “With your quick thinking and our quicker acting, we were in and out of there in the blink of an eye! …Well, alright, a _couple_ blinks of an eye.”

The twins steered their dragon so that they flew just a few feet below the dangling hunters.

“You know, the two of you can shut up at any time, right?” Tuffnut told them. “If your voices go hoarse, we’ll be forced to make you drink medicine.”

“And hooboy, it does _not_ taste good anymore,” Ruffnut smirked. “ _Something_ in it went off a few weeks ago, but I’m sure it’ll still work! Who cares if it makes you barf a little?”

The hunters stared at them in horror, their mouths clamping shut.

“That’s what we thought,” the twins chorused.

 

Half an hour later found the trio and their captives reaching the Edge. Not wanting to risk their prisoners escaping, the twins decided that it would be best to keep them in the boar pit for the time being. Barf and Belch unceremoniously dropped the two men into the rocky pit before letting their riders slide off their necks. Next to them, Hookfang landed; he flicked his head, sending Snotlout tumbling off him.

The two hunters scooted away from the three teens and their dragons only to yelp in fear as they found themselves pinned between them and a herd of angry-looking boars. The teens noticed how one of them had managed to lose his helmet on the way over; his bald head was shiny with sweat and seemed to intrigue one of the boars who thoroughly sniffed him over.

“What do ya want from us?!” cried the one still with a helmet.

“We want information,” Ruffnut replied, narrowing her eyes. A menacing grin slowly spread across her lips as she leaned forward, her hands on her hips. “Information regarding one Thora Gretasdotter.”

“Or Gobbersdotter,” Snotlout added, boredly looking at his nails. “She goes by both.”

“Y-Y-You mean the Berserker’s wife? Th-the troll?” the bald one stammered. He wasn’t so much afraid of the humans before him; rather, he was terrified of the two dragons behind them.

The three teens nodded.

“Wh-what do ya want t-to know about her?”

Tuffnut stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. “We want to know where she is. And you’re going to tell us…unless you’d rather become a new toy for our boars.”

Ruffnut nodded. “They’ve already grown bored of their other toys.” She nodded her head towards a pile of destroyed wooden dummies. “After all, you can only trample and gore the same thing over and over again so many times…”

“Or maybe one of you could be a plaything for our dragons?” Snotlout suggested, smirking. “It’s been a while. They could use a good hunt.”

To emphasize the importance of the threats, Barf and Belch let a bit of gas and sparks rise out of their mouth. Hookfang joined in, letting himself start to smolder.

The hunters cringed at the thought.

“She’s on Viggo’s island,” the bald one replied. “I-It’s where one of our bases is. But that’s all I know! We’re just Viggo’s fishermen!”

The helmeted one nodded in agreement, too scared to say anything.

Ruffnut’s eyes remained narrowed as her smirk turned into an unconvinced frown. “If you’re _just_ fishermen, then why was your ship so heavily armed, hmm? Seems a little strange for a fishing ship.”

“That’s because you lot keep attackin’ us!” he squeaked. “We got tired o’ losin’ our catches an’ having to deal with Viggo’s punishments, so we outfitted ourselves with some catapults and plenty of dragonroot arrows.”

Tuffnut looked at his sister, shrugging. “Makes sense, actually.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agreed. “But!” She looked back at the hunters. “That doesn’t explain the lack of fish!”

“Our nets were in the water!”

Tuffnut opened his mouth to speak, but the words they all heard were not his.

“What is going on here!? And who are _they_?!”

Snotlout, the twins, and their dragons turned around. There stood Toothless, Hiccup on his back. Both looked quite furious. Rightly so, however.

“It was Ruffnut’s idea!” Snotlout and Tuffnut chorused.

“Hey!” She looked at the two of them, pouting. “You were the ones who agreed to help me!”

Taking a deep breath, Hiccup closed his eyes and slowly exhaled; it was a method of calming himself taught to him by his father. “Alright you three. I’m going to count to ten. By the time I reach ten, I better have heard an _tremendously_ good reason as to why there are two, cowering dragon hunters in your boar pit. One.” As he started to count, he kept his eyes shut.

The twins looked at each other before slowly stepping away from Snotlout.

“Two.”

Barf and Belch lowered their heads and scuttled into the shadows, unable to look at Toothless.

“Three.”

Hookfang pressed himself to the ground and slid behind his rider, also unable to look at Toothless.

“Four.”

Snotlout went to look at his friends only to find them cowering by their dragons some yards away.

“Five.”

Fumbling for words, Snotlout uselessly gesticulated between the twins, their dragons, and the dragon hunters.

“Six.”

“Hey, muttonheads, help me out here!” he hissed at the twins. The twins merely shooed him, urging him forward.

“Seven.”

Growling, Snotlout angrily pointed at the ground next to him. “You two get over here _right now_ or _so help me Thor-_ ”

“Eight.”

Ruffnut gave him a cheeky grin as well as a double thumbs-up. Tuffnut mouthed ‘You got this!’.

“Nine.”

Finally crumbling over the pressure, Snotlout let out a strangled cry of frustration as he fell to his knees. “The twins came up with this plan to kidnap some hunters so we could interrogate them and get some information! They even planned on how to get rid of the hunters without killing them by dropping them in the middle of the ocean. They dragged me along with promises of finding out where Thora is and helping me get rid of this damned rash on my foot!” he cried. He fell forward onto his arms, groveling before Hiccup and Toothless. “You _know_ how itchy this rash has been!” he half-sobbed. “I _had_ to agree to it!”

Hiccup, having opened his eyes, stared at him for a moment. His brow slowly rose as he looked over at the twins. They smiled as innocently as they could while giving him a small wave. His eyes then trailed over to the hunters; they looked just as confused and scared as they had when he arrived.

“Well?” he finally sighed.

Snotlout peeked up at him. “Wh-what?”

“Well? Did they tell you anything?” he questioned, his voice dull.

Snotlout glanced back at the twins. They were just as shocked as him about Hiccup not seeming upset. “Th-they told us that she’s on Viggo’s base…” he finally replied, looking back to his cousin.

Hiccup fixed his gaze on the hunters. “Do you know how to get to Viggo’s base?”

The two hunters nodded, unsure whether they should speak or not.

Snotlout and the twins watched Hiccup as he fell silent for a moment. It was obvious he was thinking things over, but his silence was almost irksome. They wanted him to shout. To yell. To do _something_. Quiet Hiccup meant disappointment. And the last thing _any_ of them wanted was for him to be disappointed in them. Angry, annoyed, repulsed -all were far better than disappointed.

At last, he spoke, drawing out sighs of relief from the other three riders.

“Take them to the clubhouse,” he ordered. “I’ll get Astrid and Fishlegs. If these two know where Viggo’s base is, then _everyone_ needs to know.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had barely risen when Dagur, Heather, and Ryker returned to the island. With them, they brought crates of stolen goods and barrels of food and wine. To their surprise, they were greeted by Viggo, who wore his usual smile that didn’t reach to his eyes.

“It was a good haul, brother,” Ryker told him as they approached. “Plenty of gold and food in exchange for _safe_ passage.”

Viggo nodded, his arms behind his back. “Good, good. Just as I anticipated. What I _didn’t_ anticipate was your quick return. I had expected you to take a day or two longer than you did. It was only by mere chance that I decided to talk my morning walk a bit earlier than usual that allowed me to catch sight of your sails.”

“There was a storm coming,” Heather replied. “We got the goods and ran. Thankfully, the trade winds were in our favor and granted us good sailing.”

He nodded once more. “I see. Well, I’m glad nothing and no one was lost to the elements. That would have been quite a shame.” Then, looking at Dagur and Heather, he smiled rather pleasantly at them. “Though I have much to discuss with my brother, I have things I would like to discuss with you two, as well,” he told them. “Would you mind if I escorted you to your tents?”

The siblings glanced at one another, both feeling more than a little apprehensive about him. Despite the feeling, Dagur managed to feign a tired smile.

“Sure. Why not?” he said, shrugging casually. He then looked at Heather, chuckling. “Bet he just wants to congratulate us on a job well done,” he told her, his voice teasing.

She grinned, playfully nudging his arm. “Don’t get cocky. _I_ did most of the work.”

Viggo looked amused by their bantering as he motioned for them to start walking with him. “I take it your mission went smoothly then?”

“It did,” Dagur replied, “for the most part, at least. Like Heather said, a storm was starting to roll in, so the ocean got pretty choppy.”

“But, we didn’t have to hurt anyone. So, I’d call _that_ a success,” Heather added.

“Unnecessarily shedding blood is always a good thing to avoid,” agreed Viggo. “I’m afraid not all missions will be as pleasant, however. Sometimes, blood must be shed in order to prove your intentions to be sincere.”

Dagur was glad that Viggo had his back to them, because he furrowed his brows in confusion and looked at Heather. She wore the same expression, though hers had a _touch_ more malice.

“I’m sure you understand, Dagur,” Viggo continued. “After all, you are well-respected among your people. But I’m sure it wasn’t always that way. It never is when you’re newly crowned. You always have such large shoes to fill…No small feat in your case, I would imagine.”

He looked over his shoulder, still wearing the pleasant smile. “But, it seems you were able to reach the top with little effort. And you’ve certainly managed to surrounded yourself with wonderfully trustworthy people!” He let out a small chuckle and looked up at the sky. It was beginning to turn from deep purple to lavender as the sun rose higher.

“Took a while,” Dagur replied. “Plenty of people hated me because I wasn’t my father.”

“But, once you proved yourself, you earned their loyalty and support?”

“Of course.” Heather snorted. “How _else_ would he earn it?”

“Oh, there are plenty of ways.” He chuckled, a sound that filled the siblings with dread. “You can buy loyalty or you can earn it…you can even _instill_ it. It all depends on the situation, really.”

“Buying loyalty is only useful so long as _you_ always have the most gold,” Heather replied, her tone betraying her wariness.

“And instilling it only lasts as long as your strength,” Dagur said, his voice also cautious.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve plenty of both then, isn’t it?” He let out another soft laugh. “You see, sometimes _earning_ a person’s -or even an entire tribe’s- loyalty can be a long, tedious process. _Buying_ loyalty is so much quicker, especially if you’re feeding into their grand plans of revenge. A ship here, some catapults there, throw in a few dozen dragonroot arrows…” Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that Dagur’s face had paled a bit.

He smirked.

“To me, the cost of buying the loyalty is minimal while the return is far greater. But, I suppose, everything has its flaws. Methods start to be questioned. Ethics, too, mind you. And soon, you begin to hear rumors of your new allies planning to _betray_ you. _You_ , who had showered them with _gifts_.”

They had reached Dagur and Heather’s tents by now, but as Viggo turned around, the siblings knew he had no intentions of leaving them just yet. There was a grave look on his face as he looked down at the two, young adults. A bit of amusement managed to slightly upturn the corners of his mouth as he watched Heather starting to reach for her ax, but Dagur stopped her.

“I am not a cruel man,” he told them, “and I am willing to grant second chances when I deem it necessary.”

“How _kind_ of you,” Heather mumbled.

He ignored her words. “And so, I grant you just that: A second chance. If I hear _any_ word of you thinking of deserting again, I _will_ be forced to take action. Do you understand?”

Dagur gave a single, curt nod, but said nothing.

“Good. I’m pleased that no blood had to be shed this morning.” His smile returned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must discuss your mission with my brother.” He walked past them only to pause and look over his shoulder. “Oh, but I did forget to mention _one_ thing: I cannot allow you to go without punishment.”

Heather’s nails were digging into palm. “Oh? And what will our _punishment_ be?” she demanded, doing her best to keep her voice civil.

“You’ll find out in due time.” Without another word, he resumed walking.

Once he was out of hearing range, Heather let out a frustrated growl, gripping her hair. “Ugh! Who does he think he is, threatening _us_ like that!? We’re the ones who should be threatening _him_!”

“Keep your voice down,” Dagur warned her. “For all we know, one of his spies just heard you and would mistake your words for plans of treason.” Tiredly rubbing his face, he headed for the entrance of his tent.

She sighed, following after him. “If we had more men, I’d say it’d be worth it…as it is, though, we’d need the dragon riders _and_ Berk’s fleet in order to achieve anything.”

“Which is why we’re _not_ going to incur his wrath. Not now, at least.”

“Heh…Never thought I’d hear _Dagur_ bein’ the voice o’ reason. Isn’t that _your_ job, Heather?”

The siblings blinked, peering through the dim light to find the silhouette of Thora sitting up in bed. Dagur smiled apologetically at her, though he knew she couldn’t see it.

“Did we wake you?” he asked, making his way towards the bed.

“I wish,” she chuckled. She sounded more tired than she should have. A small smile came to her lips when Dagur gently kissed her forehead before sitting down beside her.

Walking over to the table, Heather sat down on a stool. “Then I suppose you heard everything?” Grabbing the flint and steel from the table, she started trying to light the brazier to give them more light.

“I did…” Thora bit her tongue, looking away from their silhouettes.

“Which means you also heard him telling us he’ll punish us,” Heather continued with a heavy sigh. “Guess you should get some medicines ready.”

Dagur let out a sarcastic laugh. “No kidding. Viggo doesn’t do _gentle_ punishments. What do you think he’ll do to us? Cut out our tongues? Remove some fingers? Ooh, maybe he’ll cut off one of our ears!”

“Actually…” Thora bit her tongue again. “He…he already doled out your punishment.”

The siblings froze.

Heather was the first to speak. “…What?”

Swallowing hard, Thora pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arm and tail around them. “He…he already doled out the punishment,” she repeated, her voice quieter. “He—he cut my hair an’…” She let out a shaky sigh. “An’ he took my tusks.”

Dagur was rooted to the spot, his eyes wide and his mind having gone blank from the mixture of shock and anger coursing through him. When Heather finally managed to get the brazier light, he saw Thora curled up across from him. She had the lower half of her face hidden behind her knees, but her missing hair was all-too obvious.

“My gods,” Heather murmured, coming over. Reaching over, she gently ran her fingers through what remained of Thora’s hair. “He took almost all of it…”

Thora was only able to nod.

Finally able to move, Dagur scooted closer to his wife. He tried to get her to show her face, but she refused, pulling her knees closer. “Let me see,” he told her, his voice soft. Despite the gentleness of his voice, his body was shaking with rage. Cutting her hair was one thing; hair grew back. But her tusks?

After a bit more coaxing from both Berserkers, Thora lowered her legs at last. Though no longer swollen, the majority of her jaw was covered in a deep, purple-black bruise. The yellowing around the edges, however, let them know that she had been applying medicines to help it heal faster.

“I’m going to kill him,” Dagur murmured. He stood, intending to leave the tent, but Thora grabbed his wrist with her tail, pulling him back down.

“Don’t,” she quietly ordered. “It’s not worth it. _I’m_ not worth it.”

He frowned, staring at her in shock. “Thora, I’d give my life a thousand times if it meant-”

“I don’t want ya t’ give your life _once_ , let alone a thousand times!” she suddenly cried out. She closed her eyes and shakily exhaled, trying to calm herself. Then, speaking in a quieter voice, she continued. “I know ya want t’ hurt him. T’ kill him. An’ I’d be entirely alright with it. But please…Please, Dagur, _don’t_. We’re standin’ on the edge o’ a knife. One wrong move an’ we’re goners.”

“He _hurt_ you,” Dagur argued, his voice soft. He took her hand in both of his. “He deserves _some_ kind of retribution!”

“He does,” Heather agreed, “but Thora’s right. We can’t do anything. Not yet, at least.” She sighed, using the exhaled hair to blew a lock of hair from her face. Closing her eyes, she lightly shook her head. “We… _may_ need to get Hiccup and the riders involved,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

A defeated sigh left Dagur’s mouth. Shifting, he moved himself closer to Thora and cradled her in his arms. “You’re both right,” he murmured, doing his best to keep calm as his fingers grazed over her short hair. “But—the riders hate me. How am I supposed to reforge an alliance with them?”

Giving his cheek a small kiss, Thora rested her forehead against his. “You’ve got me an’ Heather,” she told him. She lifted her hand, brushing her fingers against his jaw; she unconsciously took note of how much his beard had filled in since they first married. “We can vouch for ya…an’ the twins may vouch for ya as well.”

A small, hopeless chuckle left his mouth. “I doubt they would.”

“Worth a shot,” Heather smiled.

“Anyway…once I tell ‘em somethin’, I think they’ll be a bit more willing t’ suffer your presence,” Thora chuckled.

He cocked his brow. “Oh? And what’s that? How I was unable to protect you from Viggo’s merciless grasp? Or how I’ve failed you as a husband by not getting you out of here?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No. Nothin’ like that. This…this is actually kind o’—kind o’ _good_ news,” she smiled.

“Wait, you actually have _good_ news for us?” Heather asked, brow rising. “How can anything _good_ happen here?”

A small laugh left her mouth. “Even in the worst o’ times, there can be a wee bit o’ good,” she told them. She kissed Dagur’s cheek.

“So, then, what are you waiting for?” Heather sounded both intrigued and a bit impatient. “Cheer us up with something nice.”

Rolling her eyes, she chuckled. “Alright, alright, Miss Impatient Pants,” she teased. “T’ be honest, it was…quite the shock when I figured it out. But it certainly explains a few things that have been goin’ on lately. Just—just promise ya won’t start freakin’ out, aye?” Hearing the matching sounds of eagerness the siblings made, she smiled and rolled her eyes again. “Dagur, you’re go—”

She abruptly went silent, her brows furrowing. She had heard something incredibly faint, but _strange_. 

Dagur frowned. “What is-” She held a finger to his lips, silencing him.

Sliding out of the bed, she cocked her head, straining to listen to the faint noise she heard. She walked outside the tent, squinting against the morning light as she tried to find the noise’s source. She glanced at Death Dance; the Boneknapper must have heard it, too, because she was standing at attention, looking this way and that.

The sound filled Thora’s ears again -this time, however, it was closer. _Much_ closer. And it was now distinguishable: A dragon roar. Not just any dragon roar, however…

“Night Fury,” she mumbled, eyes widening. “Night Fury means Toothless. Toothless means Hiccup. Hiccup means-” She darted back into the tent.

“What? What is it?” Heather asked, frowning. “What did you hear?”

By now, Thora was grinning. “A Night Fury.”

Heather and Dagur looked at one another, jaws falling slack.

“But that means-” Dagur started.

“-The riders must be with him!” Heather finished, a wide grin on her lips as well. She looked at Thora. “How close did they sound?”

“Hard t’ tell. They’re over the ocean, so they could be a few miles out still.”

Dagur ran a hand through his hair, looking at the ground in shock. “Damn…I guess the gods are on our side today,” he murmured. “Do you think—do you think they’ll hold off on attacking me until _after_ they get us away from the hunters?”

Thora gave him a pitying look. “I won’t let them harm ya,” she promised. She tilted her head, listening once more. “Ya may want t’ go give Fylkir a head’s up, though. They’re almost here.”

He nodded. As he walked past her, Thora kissed the top of his head, bringing a small smile to his lips. After he left the tent, though, she let out a sighed and ran her hand over her head.

“That was a sudden change,” Heather commented, frowning somewhat. “What’s wrong?”

“Death Dance. Her wing’s broken. I don’t think—I don’t think all the dragons combined could lift her without losin’ a great deal o’ speed.”

Reaching up, Heather set her hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll come up with _something_ when they find out she can’t fly. And hey, if all else fails, we could put her on one of the ships and-” She jumped as there was an explosion across the camp. “They’re here.”

“Out o’ the tent!” Thora started pushing her towards the tent’s exit. “Get near Death; they’ll be lookin’ for her an’ me!”

As they burst out of the tent, Dagur and Fylkir came rushing out of the latter’s tent. All four jumped as two more explosions sounded -both were much closer.

“Get to the ships and get as many of you out of here as you can!” Dagur ordered. He looked over at the women as he heard a shrill whistle.

Windshear came rushing over, her eyes narrowed and her tail whipping dangerously behind her as she stared up at the sky. She made a quiet noise before looking down at her rider. Heather nodded before mounting her.

“I’ll let the others know where you are,” she told Thora. Before she could reply, though, Windshear took off, flying off towards the other riders.

Dagur shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked at the sky. Though he saw six, familiar riders, there were also seven _unfamiliar_ dragon riders. Before he could tell Thora about it, however, a pair of Hideous Zipplebacks flew nearby, leaving a trail of gas. Death Dance let out a roar, covering Dagur and Thora with her uninjured wing just in time to keep them from being hit by the blast.

Death roared again, this time louder. One of the Zipplebacks doubled back, hovering just a few yards above the ground.

“Thora!” the twins cried as Thora and Dagur were uncovered.

“Twins!” she cried back, grinning. “How in Freyr’s name did ya find this place?!”

Tuffnut grinned. “Wasn’t _too_ hard once we went against Hiccup’s orders and kidnapped a couple of hunters,” he said.

Ruffnut looked over her shoulder at the chaos taking place. “Yeah. We would have been here sooner if we hadn’t been afraid of his and Astrid’s wrath. But, turns out it was kind of a good thing since the Berk auxiliary team has had time to train up!”

“We have an auxiliary team now?”

“Once we get you out of here, there is a _lot_ we need to catch you up on,” the chorused.

Tuffnut then frowned, noticing the discoloration on her jaw. “Thora…what happened to your jaw?”

“Viggo,” Dagur answered. “We’ll explain later. Look, Death Dance is hurt -she can’t fly. How many of your dragons do you think it’ll take to get her out of here?”

At that, Death Dance made a noise of irritation. She stretched out her good wing, the other trying to struggle against her bindings. Unable to free it, she turned her head round and tried to bite off the ropes.

“No way,” Thora scolded. “Even if your wing is _mostly_ healed, it’s in no shape t’ be flying long distances!”

An almost defiant look came to Death’s eyes as she blasted the ropes with a bit of fire. Wing now free, she slowly unfurled it. She flapped it a few times, looking quite impressed with herself -she felt no pain whatsoever. Just stiffness, but that was to be expected.

Thora groaned. “Death…You’re goin’ t’ just hurt yourself further!”

Dagur set his hand on her arm. “Have faith in her. After all, _you’re_ the one who’s been treating her. For all we know, it _is_ fully healed.” He smiled reassuringly at her, but it quickly faded. Suddenly grabbing her, he yanked her sideways.

Thora felt the rush of air as three arrows narrowly missed her head.

“Get them!” she heard someone shout. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a group of hunters, led by Ryker, rushing towards them.

“Time to go!” she squeaked.

Before the hunters could get much closer, Death spun around. Her tail slammed into them, sending some flying. Spinning around again, she unfurled her wings and barred her teeth at those who were left. She roared at full volume, frightening them.

Grabbing Dagur’s hand, Thora started running up Death’s tail. Behind them, the twins were making a wall of gas, stopping more oncoming hunters. As they sparked it, the blast sent Thora and Dagur flying forward.

“Ow,” Dagur mumbled, pushing himself upright. “You alright?” he asked, looking at Thora.

She had her eyes clenched in pain. “Fine. Just…just landed on my chin…”

He flinched at the thought. “Ugh, come here. Let me see if you’re bleed—Whoa!” Instead of inspecting her face, he was instead forced to cling onto one of the bones as Death Dance’s entire body lurched.

Thrusting herself upwards, Death Dance took to the air. It took some effort thanks to her wing. Soon, though, she was rising upwards. Thora heard shouts coming from familiar voices above them; looking up, she saw the other riders.

Dagur, though, was peering over the edge of Death’s flank. Most of the island was ablaze. Dragons, freed from their chains, were running wild and attacking the hunters. The hunters were doing their best to fight back against the dragons and riders, but most of their catapults had already been taken out.

Towards the docks, he saw his men shoving off in one of the large ships. Though they were relatively safe, there were hunters trying to hit them with arrows. Thankfully, the ship itself acted as a shield for them.

“Are they goin’ t’ be alright?”

He looked at Thora, almost startled by her voice. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, they are. I told Fylkir to take them home. To Berserk. Thankfully, Viggo and Ryker don’t know where that is. Yet, at least.”

She nodded in understanding. “Good, good…That’ll give us some time t’ work out peace negotiations, eh?” She smiled at him.

“Yeah,” he replied, returning the look. As she started to crawl forward, heading for Death’s neck, he followed after her.

As they reached her neck, they were greeted by the sight of the other riders hovering around them. Thora was more than a little surprised to find Gothi among the riders; she was sitting atop a purple Gronckle. Astrid and Snotlout, however, seemed to be missing.

“I was almost wonderin’ if you lot had forgotten ‘bout me!” Thora called out with a teasing grin.

“Forget you? _Never_ ,” Hiccup called back, grinning. “Sorry it took us so long.”

She smiled. “Better late than never, eh?” She watched as Hiccup’s happiness faded somewhat; he had seen Dagur poking his head out from behind her.

Stoick suddenly flew in front of Hiccup, a stern look on his face as he stared down Dagur. “You!” he called out, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I have words for you when we’re out of here!”

“I will happily listen to said words so long as you don’t kill me!” Dagur replied with a nervous smile.

Stoick then pointed at Thora. “And _you,_ young lady-”

“Dad, now’s not the time!” Hiccup interjected, urgency in his voice. “I see Astrid and Snotlout -we’ve got to _go_!”

Thora frowned, also spotting the two riders. Stormfly and Hookfang seemed to be flying faster than normal. “What’s going on?” she asked, seeing the other riders beginning to fly away.

“They’ve planted a couple barrels of Nightmare gel in the center of the camp,” Hiccup explained.

Her eyes widened. “Oh gods…” Shaking her head, she patted Death’s neck. “Alright, girl. Here’s your real test. Get us out o’ here!”

As Stormfly and Hookfang caught up with them, Death began following Toothless and Skullcrusher. Dagur, still not used to flying, clung onto Thora as he peeked over the edge once more. He was just in time to see an extremely large explosion erupt in the middle of the camp; he jumped. Thora flinched, wincing at the noise.

Smaller explosions followed after the first, tearing through the island. The force of the detonations send all sorts of debris flying into the air, some of it flying even higher than the dragons.

“That sounded like more than a _couple_ o’ barrels!” she cried.

“Nothing wrong with overdoing it once in a while,” Dagur chuckled. His laughter was cut short, though, and instead replaced by a cry of pain.

Eyes widening, Thora looked over her shoulder. “What? What is—”

There were two arrows sticking out of Dagur: One between his neck and shoulder, the other out of his bicep. By the way they were lodged in his body, they had come from above.

Shrapnel from the explosions.

As Thora started trying to turn around, Dagur grabbed the arrow in his arm and yanked it out with a hiss.

“Don’t do that!” she cried, smacking her hand over the wound. She applied as much pressure to it as she could without hurting him.

“It’s just an arrow,” he hissed, making to grab the other one.

Her tail snatched his wrist before he could touch it. “ _Just_ an arrow can leave a worse wound comin’ out than goin’ in!” she scolded, “an’ that could mean a higher chance o’ infection or _worse_!” Letting go of his wrist, she instead wrapped her tail around the arrow, snapping it near his body. She then went about trying to rip part of her skirt to use as a bandage.

Her attention temporarily elsewhere, she failed to notice how Dagur started to wobble. His vision started to swim before him and he blinked, trying to clear his sight. When that failed, he tried rubbing his eyes.

“Th-Thora?” he mumbled, his entire body feeling strange. “Am…am I supposed to feel like this?”

She looked up, frowning. “Like wha—Oh gods.” His skin had grown pale and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Oh gods, oh gods…” She was thankful to find that he still clutched the arrow he pulled from his arm. Grabbing it, she inspected its tip. “Green liquid…dragonroot poison. But dragonroot doesn’t do anythin’ t’ humans! Unless it’s laced with—Ack!”

Dropping the arrow, she lunged forward as Dagur slumped over the side of Death Dance. She was just barely able to catch his hand, but only because the very end of her tail clung onto a vertebra.

“Dagur! Stay with me!” she cried, watching him struggle to keep his eyes open.

He looked up at her, though his eyes were unfocused. “I—I don’t think I can,” he told her, guilt in his voice. Thanks to the sweat on his skin, he started to slip out of her grip.

Thora managed to somewhat tug him upwards, grabbing hold of his hand again. “Don’t ya _dare_ say that!” she snapped. She winced as she tried to pull them up, but the end of her tail was too weak to do more than hold them. Her eyes began filling with tears, but she blinked them away. “Hiccup! Twins!” She shouted, hoping the other riders could hear her.

But they were too far ahead of the Boneknapper.

“Don’t ya _dare_ give up on me,” she told Dagur, her eyes clenching shut in in pain. She strained as hard as she could, but it was useless. A pained whimper left her mouth.

“Thora. Look at me.”

She swallowed hard, opening her eyes. Dagur’s skin was deathly pale now and the hand she was clenching had little strength to it.

“Either way…it’s useless,” he told her, voice weak. It was taking all his strength to stay coherent. “You know that.”

“N-No,” she choked out. He was starting to slip again. “No! I _can_ save ya! Ya just got t’ hold on a little longer. Just a bit longer! Another rider is sure t’ see this an’ come help!”

He managed a small, sad smile at her. “I’m sorry, Thora. I hope…hope you can f-forgive me. I l-love you.” As his hand left her grip a second time, he used his last bit of energy to pull his hand out of her reach.

Thora screamed.

Looking to see what was wrong, Death Dance saw Dagur plummeting into the cloud of smoke below. A roar of surprise left her mouth and she started trying to bank around, but she was too slow. A blur of black and grew shot past them -Heather and Windshear. They disappeared into the smoke.

With no choice left for her, Thora pulled herself back up. Praying to the gods, she frantically searched the skies for any sign of Dagur or Heather. Windshear was almost as fast as Toothless -surely, she’d be able to catch him before he hit the ground?

But when Heather came out of the smoke, it was without her brother.

Thora suddenly felt sick.

Heather flew alongside Death Dance, her jaw clenched and her eyes fixed on the horizon ahead of her. “I couldn’t find him,” she finally managed to say. “I-I couldn’t find him. He sh-should have been easy to s-see in the ocean. But…” She closed her eyes, brows knitted together.

Thora couldn’t tell if she was going to throw up or faint. Her hearing became nothing more than a dull buzz and her whole body seemed to have gone numb. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but no sobs left her mouth. Instead, she stared at the spot where Dagur had been sitting just a few minutes prior.

 

“Thora. _Thora_!”

Blinking, she looked over at the voice’s owner. It was Hiccup. The hunter’s base was long out of sight and the other riders had formed a flying circle around Death Dance. How much time had passed?

Heather had apparently managed to explain to the others what had happened, because they all looked concerned. The twins even looked a bit upset. But whether it was because of Dagur or because of Thora, she couldn’t tell.

Toothless landed on Death’s back, allowing Hiccup to dismount. He walked over to his cousin, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Hey. Hey, c’mon Thora. Talk to me. Let me know you’re alright,” he told her, voice quiet.

“He’s…he’s gone…” she whispered, blankly staring at Hiccup. “He’s gone. I’m—I’m a…a widow…”

He nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

The shock finally drained from her body and a wave of emotions crashed over her. Her jaw started to wobble and her tears began anew. “He’s _gone_.”

Again, Hiccup nodded. “Heather scoured the area for his body—but…” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I’m sorry, Thora. I know—I know you had been trying to, y’know. _Change_ him.” Sighing, he looked back at her only to her find her holding her stomach, sorrow mingling with horror in her eyes as she stared at it. “Are…are you going to be sick?” he asked, tone cautious.

Slowly, she looked up at him. Her mouth moved, but at first, no words came out. Then, a sob leaving her throat, she was able to choke out something.

“Hiccup…Dagur was goin’ t’ be a daddy.”


	42. 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to give you a little heads up: I'm going to be taking a little hiatus from posting chapters on Taming a Monster and Spiridon's Plight so that I can build up a bit of a buffer. Why, you ask? Because I have two *other* stories I want to start in the near future. One is going to be a Hobbit fanfiction (and, technically, an au of Finding Their Place) titled 'Second Chances'. The other is going to be 100% original story and...I have no name for it just yet, lol. It's a modern fantasy story set here in western Washington, though!
> 
> Anyway. That's all I wanted to say. Hope you enjoy the chapter~

A week passed. Scouting missions around the area of attack brought knowledge that Viggo and Ryker had managed to escape before the worst damage was dealt. The riders knew that they would soon be at another one of their bases and back to business.

But there had been no sign of Dagur. No body. No bits of clothing.

_Nothing_.

At first, the twins had tried to tell Thora that this was a _good_ sign -it meant that there was a slight chance he was still alive. But she knew better. Whatever had been mixed in with the dragonroot poison had made him incredibly sick incredibly fast. And even if he _had_ managed to survive the poison, the fall into the ocean would have been fatal…

Back on Berk now, the riders were gathering up supplies to take with them back to the Edge. Thora, though, would be staying put. Between what Viggo had done to her and her -somehow- being pregnant, everyone agreed that it would be best for her to remain on Berk.

She didn’t argue against it.

Nor did she argue against the various spells and scryings done by Gothi and the other elderly women to make sure that she was, truly, pregnant (and, of course, everything pointed to ‘yes’). And when Snotlout and the twins insisted on helping her with even the simplest of tasks, she still didn’t put up a fight. Why should she? They were only trying to help, she had told herself, even if they actually made her feel _worse_ at times.

What she didn’t like was the way Hiccup was now avoiding her. He wasn’t even trying to be polite about it, either: Every time she went looking for him, he was either nowhere to be found or ‘too busy’ to talk at the moment.

And so, she waited until a time when he _couldn’t_ escape.

Thanks to Astrid, she learned that Hiccup had taken to walking along Long Beach at night. His only companion was Toothless, so Thora wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else being there.

When the sun set into the ocean, she grabbed her shawl and left her house. She did her best to stay in the shadows of the buildings -she didn’t want to be seen should Hiccup and Toothless fly over. She heard wings approaching from overhead and pressed herself against the wall of a house. Looking up, she saw Bucket and Mulch flying over on their Zippleback.

She sighed in relief and continued on her way.

After nearly half an hour, she finally made it to Long Beach. She had stopped quite often, hiding herself as best she could whenever she heard an approaching dragon. None of them had been Hiccup and Toothless, though, leaving her feeling a bit foolish.

‘It’s not foolish if it means you manage to coerce him into talking,’ she scolded herself. Sighing, she walked down the sandy path, hoping that she wouldn’t run into her cousin right away.

She was in luck. He was quite some ways away -a couple hundred yards- with Toothless ambling beside him. Thanks to the crashing of the waves, she could hardly hear him. After some minutes of walking, however, she could start to make out bits and pieces of what Hiccup was saying to his dragon.

“…told him. And then, he goes and drops the ball on me by telling me that I should start _seriously_ considering my role as future chief. How can he expect me to start thinking of that when I’m still trying to stop Viggo and Ryker?”

Toothless made some noise that could either be a sound of agreement or a sound of disinterest.

“On top of that, if being chief of Berk is anything like trying to keep the others from getting into trouble, I’d _happily_ decline the position and leave it to Astrid.” He sighed and slouched forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s the one who’s meant to do that kind of thing. She’s intelligent, she’s got a good mind for strategy, and the people like her more than me.”

Again, Toothless chimed in with a noise. This one, though, was quite obviously a sound of agreement.

Stopping, Hiccup turned and let himself plop down in the sand. Toothless curled around him. Rubbing his face, he let out a heavy sigh. “Gods…Can’t I work on one thing at a time? Just let me stop the dragon hunters. _Then_ I’ll think about—AH!” As he looked up, he jolted in shock as he found Thora standing in front of him, her hand on her hip.

Toothless, who had both heard and seen Thora approach, couldn’t have cared less.

“Th-Th-Thora!” squeaked Hiccup. “Wh-what are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside and-and-and in bed by now?”

She gave him a bland. “I think ya know damn well why I’m out here,” she told him, voice flat. “Ever since ya found out I was pregnant, you’ve been avoidin’ me.”

“I-I have not,” he stuttered, not able to look her in the eye. “I’ve b-been extremely b-busy is all! You know, with the whole finding Viggo and gathering supplies…” He winced as he looked up at her; she didn’t look at all convinced. “And I’m still the worst liar in Midgard, aren’t I?”

“In _all_ the Nine Realms.” Her face softened somewhat; she looked more hurt than annoyed now. “ _Why_ have ya been avoidin’ me, Hiccup?”

Biting his lip, he glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah…Why have I been avoiding you. Yes. That is an _extremely_ good question-”

“ _Hiccup_.”

He sighed. “Alright, alright…It’s…It’s because—well, it’s because of everything that’s happened to you the last few months,” he admitted. “You getting kidnapped again and the whole actually-falling-in-love-with-Dagur thing. Viggo stealing your hair and tusks. And then Dagur dying while trying to _help_ us. And then, to top things off, you… _somehow_ being pregnant. It’s—it’s a lot to take in.”

She let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, ya think so? Try bein’ the one _livin’_ it!” Closing her eyes, she sat down in front of him. “Just…just because all that shit happened t’ me doesn’t make me any different than _before._ I’m the same person.”

“But you’re _not_ the same person,” he argued. “You’re different. You-you-you’re becoming too complacent! You used to put up fights when bad things happened; now, though? You were _willing_ to be held captive for nearly four months, Thora!”

“‘Willing’?” she repeated with a frown. “The only reason I was ‘willing’ was because Death Dance was too injured t’ fly an’ I couldn’t risk leavin’ her!”

“You could have done _something_!” he snapped. “You had Heather there with you! Hel, you had _Dagur_ and his damned Berserkers with you! You could have come up with _something_ to get away from them!”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, aye, that’s easy enough for _you_ t’ say. You weren’t there, _outnumbered_ three-to-one by dragon hunters. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t do a damned thing! An’ trust me, Hiccup: These last few weeks, Dagur had wanted nothin’ more than t’ gut the Grimborn brothers.”

“Why didn’t he, then?! He’s Dagur the fucking Deranged! He loved violence of all kinds!” he snapped, throwing his hands out in exasperation. “If you haven’t noticed, he’s _only_ wanted mine and Toothless’ heads on his wall for the last five years.”

Swallowing hard, Thora managed to hold back her tears. “He _changed_ , Hiccup,” she told him, her voice a bit shaky. “He was goin’ t’ betray Viggo an’ come ask for peace between the Berserkers an’ the Hooligans in exchange for his an’ Heather’s help with Viggo.”

Hiccup raised a brow, looking highly unimpressed. “Right. That’s what _he_ told you. Because Dagur’s the type to really want peace.”

“You didn’t know him like I did!” she snapped.

“That’s obvious. You clearly knew him far more _intimately_ than I ever did.”

She suddenly stood up, her hand clenched into a fist. “Ya know what? _No_. If you’re just goin’ t’ keep accusin’ me o’ being delusional for _knowing_ Dagur had changed, then this isn’t even worth my time.”

“I never _once_ said you were delusional!” he argued, also standing. “I’m just saying I find it hard to believe that a man so set in his ways can change that quickly!”

“Do ya _not_ remember how quickly your own fuckin’ father changed _his_ mind about dragons!?” she shouted. “How quickly ya managed t’ change the entirety o’ the whole fuckin’ village in less than a few hours?! Hel, even Astrid an’ the other riders—ya changed _their_ minds pretty damned fast.”

He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t about dragons-”

“No, it’s not! But it’s the same thing, Hiccup! Dagur, as a person, _changed_ whether ya want t’ admit it or not. Just ask Heather. She was there with us! For fuck’s sake, she wanted him _dead_ a few months ago, but now she’s been cryin’ her eyes out because he _is_ dead!”

Hiccup glared at her, but was unable to say anything.

“It wasn’t even a fast change,” she continued. “Do ya know how long it took me t’ get t’ know him well enough that I wouldn’t set off one o’ his tantrums? How long it took me t’ learn how t’ best communicate with him? How long it took me t’ help him see that he had chosen the wrong side in this fight?” She didn’t notice the tears streaming down her face.

Or the faint ring of light forming around her feet.

“Aye, I grew t’ know Dagur _intimately_. Ya know why? Because I got t’ know him as a person who had faults an’ who had fears an’ wants an’ needs an’ everythin’ else it means t’ be a person!” she snapped. “An’, sure, I fell in love with him. So what? That didn’t stop me from tryin’ t’ urge him t’ make peace with Berk an’ become our ally again. An’ guess what? In the end, he was goin’ t’ do just that. He was goin’ t’ make peace with you an’ Uncle Stoick an’ then he an’ I were goin’ t’ go t’ Berserk with Heather.”

The light was growing stronger and began to creep its way up her legs.

“But now he can’t do _any_ o’ that because he’s _dead_!” By now, she was shouting. “He’s dead, Hiccup. We were supposed t’ be a family! We were goin’ t’ adopt a couple o’ kids an’ raise them right an’ proper. But now? Now that won’t _ever_ happen!”

She let out a sound that was a mix between a sob and a sarcastic laugh. “An’ just when I found out he was goin’ t’ be a daddy t’ a child that was _really_ an’ _truly_ his, he’s taken from me. I didn’t even get t’ tell him he was goin’ t’ be a daddy, Hiccup! I didn’t get t’ tell him how excited I was an’ how much I was lookin’ forward t’ raisin’ a _miracle_ child with him!”

Thora stared at Hiccup, tears pouring from her eyes and her nose running freely. The light was almost entirely engulfing her now and Hiccup stepped back in fear. What was happening?

“Why do the gods hate me, Hiccup?” she sobbed. “Why? Every _fuckin’_ time somethin’ good happens t’ me, somethin’ bad happens shortly after. I fell in love with Cæna an’ thought I was goin’ t’ spend my life with _him_. Then I lost him, my magic, an’ my arm t’ battle. I start regainin’ a bit o’ my magic, I find out that Berk’s about t’ be in some serious shit. I fall in love with Dagur an’ find out I’m bearing his child only for him t’ die!”

As she let out a scream of frustration and anguish, the light fully engulfed her. Hiccup and Toothless were thrown back by some invisible force only to land in a sand dune some yards away. If they hadn’t been distracted, the two would have noticed that the force had gone out all around her like a fast-moving wall.

The light around Thora went out as she felt to her knees. She buried her face in her palm, her body shaking from her sobs. Staring at her, Hiccup suddenly felt guilty for yelling at her. He knew she always did things differently from him -so why had it bothered him so much this time? Especially when it so obviously had taken such a toll on her…

Hesitantly, Hiccup stood up and approached his cousin. As he neared her, he started to feel a strange energy in the air. It almost made him stop for fear of being knocked back again, but as he reached over and set his hand on her shoulder, the energy suddenly disappeared.

Thora looked up at him, eyes red and jaw quivering. “I’m so tired o’ it, Hiccup,” she whispered. “I just…I just want t’ be happy.”

Hiccup pulled her to him in a tight hug. “I know you do.”


	43. Forty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Kind of. I've got a couple of TaM chapters finished and...one...Spiridon's Plight chapter done. As such, I'm going to post one chapter every *two* weeks. I'd post them closer together, but I'm still trying to crank out more chapters. The last month and a half have been stupidly busy, so I didn't get much writing done.
> 
> But hey. At least I got some done. And, of course, the first chapter I post is hella short...xD

He groaned. His whole body felt like it was being weighed down by lead. Even his eyelids refused to open. As he continued trying to move, he started remembering bits and pieces of the last few days. Or maybe it had been weeks? He didn’t know.

He could remember someone crying. Then, he was surrounded by water, unable to reach the surface. Blackness engulfed him. But who had been crying? And why? He knew he _should_ have known the answers, but his mind was drawing a blank.

Then, he recalled voices taunting him. What were they saying? Something about ‘fair prices’ and ‘away from here’.

Where was ‘ _here’_?

The memory of too-tight ropes chaffing against his wrists came to him next, along with being roughly tossed about. Or had he been rolled? Whatever had been done to him, he knew, was the main reason for his aching body.

At last, he was able to open his eyes.

He quickly closed them again, a small, hoarse curse leaving his mouth.

The world was far too bright for him.

Someone -a man- chuckled, making his brows furrow with annoyance. What could he possibly find so amusing about his pain?

The person spoke, using a language he hadn’t heard since he was a child.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The painfully bright light was now blocked by the freckled face of a man. He looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place the reason why.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice hoarse from thirst and disuse.

“Ah, so you _are_ a Norseman,” the man chuckled. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, he saw that the man had long, brunette hair and a scar slicing through his right eye, which was pale white. He also had a somewhat goofy smile that managed to look oddly… _attractive_ on him. “Your tattoos made me think you were a Pict or Celt, except the one on your left arm. I was confused why you’d have a list of names in Norse.” Leaning back, he grabbed a pitcher of water and started to fill a wooden cup.

He frowned. “Who are you?” he asked again, trying to push himself onto his elbows.

“Ah-ah,” he lightly scolded, gently forcing him to lay back down. “You’re still fairly weak, so don’t try to push yourself just yet.” He then lifted his head, holding the cup to his lips. “Name’s Cæna, by the way,” he said, catching any water that dribbled down his chin. “I’m going to be your roommate and mentor of sorts until the Lady can find a spot for you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion as he finished drinking. “…The Lady?” His voice was a bit less hoarse now.

Cæna nodded. “Yeah. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re _kind of_ a slave now.”

 


	44. 44

Almost a year and a half had passed since Thora’s rescue from Viggo’s base and it had been quite a busy stretch of time for her. There had been sicknesses aplenty, ranging from dragon-pox and horrible colds on Berk to the Scourge of Odin on the Edge (thankfully, only Astrid had contracted it. Unthankfully, the dragon needed to make the cure was almost extinct). And, now that it had returned to her, when she wasn’t healing people, she was busy re-teaching herself how to properly use magic.

Of course, that meant using magic to help build a house for herself and her child-to-be.

Gothi had finally forced her into bedrest in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Thora knew better than to protest this, even though she sorely wanted to keep going on as normal. She wasn’t left bored for very long, however: Just two weeks before Dagrun was born, the riders returned with the news that they had taken out Viggo and Ryker for good. The downside was that the Edge had been destroyed in order to do it. Stoick told Hiccup they could rebuild; it would be a good thing to keep an outpost between Berk and the Defenders of the Wing.

And then, Thora went into labor.

It had been long and difficult. At one point, Gothi wasn’t sure if Thora was going to make it. But, she was stubborn and wasn’t about to have her daughter become an orphan. And so, Dagrun, a healthy baby girl with Thora’s dark skin and tail and a wild tuft of Dagur’s red hair, had been born on the day of the autumn equinox.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Ruff, could ya pass me that bottle o’ rosemary oil?”

“This one?”

“Mhm.”

Standing up, Ruffnut grabbed the long, thin bottle and took it over to Thora. “Here you go. What’re you even making?”

“Not-So-Silent-Sven is gettin’ his yearly allergies,” Thora answered, “so I’m readyin’ him some tea for the stuffy nose an’ sore throat he’ll inevitably get.”

She nodded in understanding. “Makes sense, but…I don’t think he’s been here today. How do you know he’s going to need this?”

“Saw him while I was in the market earlier.” Using her teeth, she opened the bottle of oil before adding about a dozen or so drops into the mortar. She corked the bottle once more before handing it back to Ruffnut. “His eyes were a bit red an’ swollen an’ he was snifflin’ a bit.”

“Sounds more like he was crying,” Ruffnut murmured, taking the bottle back to its spot on the shelf. “But, you’re the witch. You know these things better than me.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora chuckled. “True.” Using the pestle, she mixed together the oil and other ingredients, grinding them into a smooth paste. “So, where is it that Tuffnut ran off t’, again?”

She shrugged, leaning against the wall. “Eh. He and Snotface went off to try and hunt down a wild boar or something.”

Thora looked over her shoulder, brow raised. “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, I know. Those two can’t even find their boots, let alone a wild boar,” she snickered. “I think they’re doing it because they overheard some of the other guys making fun of them or something. Yeah, that’s right. They overheard Gunnar, Egil, and Einar talking about how, except for flying dragons, they were basically useless.”

Frowning, Thora picked up the mortar with her tail, carefully pouring its contents into a jar. “Well that’s not very fair at all,” she replied. “As I recall, Tuffnut an’ Snotlout have helped save Berk more times than any o’ those three.”

Ruffnut shrugged. “They’re just jealous because all the single ladies and guys have been flocking to them lately.” She paused, tilting her head somewhat as she thought she heard a squeak from the other room. When nothing happened, she boredly looked at her nails. “Not that it really matters. Tuff’s not into relationships, just sex, and Snotlout’s basically the boyfriend of everyone in our group.”

“Except Hiccup.”

“Well, duh. They’re cousins.”

“Cousins marry all the time.”

“Maybe on the _mainland_ and in the Meathead tribe, but not here.” She stuck her tongue out in disgust. “We’re heathens, not…not _Neanderthals._ ”

Thora gave her a strange look. “What…in Freyr’s name is a Neanderthal?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. It’s a word I just made up. Sounds like it perfectly describes someone who’d marry their cousin, though.” Again, she stuck out her tongue. “So, you need me to run that jar over to Sven’s…?”

“If ya want. It’s not urgent.” Covering her mouth as she yawned, Thora went and plopped down in her chair near the fire. A soft sigh left her mouth as she closed her eyes, a small smile coming to her lips.

“I know that look,” Ruffnut grinned, sitting down in a chair across from her. “That’s the look of a mama whose child woke her up too much last night.”

She opened an eye, looking over at Ruffnut. “Am I that easy t’ read now?” she chuckled. “Nah. It wasn’t Dagrun who kept me up. I had some nightmares again.”

Ruffnut frowned. “That’s the _fourth_ time this week.”

“Sometimes, they happen every night. Other times, I can go weeks without one. I can’t control my dreams.” She shrugged, allowing herself to lazily sink down in her chair so that her legs were stretched out towards the fire. “How’s Kenna been?”

“Busy, sadly.” She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “She and Yngling have been having to do a lot of logging so that they can get the wood ready to build all the fire-putting-out contraptions Hiccup’s been coming up with. By the time she’s done working, she’s too exhausted to do anything but cuddle. Not that I mind, of course. But I miss goin’ on walks with her or wrestling with her, y’know?”

“Trust me, I know the feeling well.” She quietly chuckled, running her hand over her hair. It had grown quite a bit over the last eighteen months; it was now a few inches past her shoulders and just as wild as ever. “Tomorrow’s bathing day. Maybe you’ll get to spend more time with her then?”

“I hope…Though, it’s still too chilly to use any lakes or rivers for bathing, so we’ll either be fighting for space in the hot springs or having to fill up separate tubs.” Thora could hear the pout in her voice.

She tilted her head, hearing a soft whine from the other room. “Everyone will be tryin’ t’ get their baths done early, so I suggest usin’ your own tubs,” she suggested. “Anyway, it’s quieter that way. An’ ya don’t have t’ worry about anyone pokin’ fun at you.”

Ruffnut smirked. “Oh, they _know_ not to poke fun at us. If I don’t beat the snot out of them, Kenna will!” She let out a cackle before clapping her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide in surprise as a wail came from the other room.

“Don’t worry,” Thora assured her, standing up. “She was already awake an’ startin’ t’ fuss.”

She let out a relieved breath. “That’s good. Well, I mean, it’s not that she woke up crying, but—ah, you know what I’m talking about. Do you want any help?”

“I’ll let ya know.” She pushed aside the curtain in the doorway and entered her bedroom. A small, tired smile came to her lips as she saw tiny hands and legs wiggling around in the air across the room. “Aww, did my wee lil’ girl wake up cranky?” she cooed, leaning over the crib.

A pair of bright green, tear-filled eyes looked up at her. Dagrun sniffled before grunting in displeasure, reaching for her mother.

Thora waved her hand in front of her face, though. “I can smell why you’re cranky! Poor lil’ thing; ya woke up with a dirty butt!” she giggled.

Dagrun was about to let out another wail, but she was suddenly distracted as a pair of pale, glowing arms lifted her up just a bit from her crib. Above her, sparkling butterflies and dragons flew around, further distracting her as Thora cleaned her up and changed her clothes.

“ _So_ glad I have my magic back,” she murmured to herself before blowing a lock of hair from her face. “Otherwise, this would be nigh impossible.”

Dagrun made a noise of happiness as one of the magical butterflies landed on her noise. A wide, toothless smile spread across her chubby face and she tried to reach for the bug. But, being only a few months old, she was still learning how her arms and hands worked. She ended up smooshing her cheeks instead of grabbing the magic.

Thora quietly laughed. “You are too cute,” she told her, giving one of her feet a tickle. Dagrun laughed and kicked her legs. With a small grin, Thora tickled her other foot, earning a squeal and more kicks. “Just like your daddy,” she said, her tail grabbing a swaddling blanket. “Gettin’ violent when tickled.”

With her tail and her magic to help, she was able to get Dagrun swaddled up rather quickly. Holding her child in her arm, she left the room, her tail toting the bundle of soiled clothing.

“There’s auntie’s favorite girl!” Ruffnut cooed, almost instantly standing up and walking over to Thora. “Did you wake up with a dirty butt and have to tell mommy _all_ about it?”

Rolling her eyes, Thora smiled as Dagrun made a few, happy noises at Ruffnut. She carried the soiled clothes over to a pot filled with other dirty clothing only to pause as she heard Ruffnut whisper, “Remember: Auntie Ruffnut will _always_ love you more than Uncle Tuffnut. He’s a dumb, stinky boy. You and me? We’re awesome women who kick _ass_.”

Dagrun made a sound that Ruffnut interpreted as one of agreement.

“Ruffnut, don’t try t’ manipulate my daughter before she can even sit up on her own,” she sighed, though there was a bit of amusement in her tone. “At least let her start babbling random words before ya try anythin’.”

Ruffnut pouted, sitting down with the infant and watching as Thora pulled a lever in the rock wall. “Only if you set the same rules with Tuffnut!”

A small gate in the wall lifted, allowing water to rush down a chute and into the cauldron of dirty clothes. “I promise ya, he has the same rules in place for him. Same goes for Snotlout.” When the cauldron was almost full, she let go of the lever and the gate closed with a small ‘thunk’. “Though, I will say the three o’ ya have been a big help with her.”

“Of course, we have.” Grinning, Ruffnut leaned down and gently rubbed her nose against Dagrun’s. “We can’t let mommy go without help after all the help she’s given everyone else, now can we?” She made some silly noises as she nuzzled Dagrun, who let out a gasp-like laugh. “And how can we say no when it comes to such a chubby little face?”

Lifting the cauldron of water and dirty clothes, she carried it over to the hearth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were goin’ soft,” she teased, her tail reaching across to the wall of shelves. It wrapped around a large bottle, bringing it to her hand.

At that, Ruffnut raised a brow and gave Thora a somewhat dirty look. “Excuse me? I’m not going _soft_. I’m as hard as iron and you know it.” Despite her words, she dangled one of her braids over Dagrun’s face, gently bushing her skin with the soft locks.

“ _Melted_ iron, maybe,” she continued to tease. “Look at ya over there, snugglin’ my baby an’ makin’ silly noises at her! Best not let any o’ the other villagers see ya lest they start pesterin’ ya ‘bout when _you’re_ goin’ t’ have yourself a baby or two.”

Sticking out her tongue, she blew a raspberry at her. “Kenna and I have already talked it over,” she said, her tone matter-of-factly. “ _If_ this relationship of ours keeps going on for the long run, _she’s_ the one who’s going to be bearing the children. We’d just need to find a good seed donor.”

Thora snorted, pouring some of the bottle’s contents into the cauldron.

“We were thinking Hiccup, since he’s so smart an’ all, but Astrid would kill us,” Ruffnut continued. “Then we thought about Fishlegs, but…He’s not really into the whole bedding thing, y’know? He’s more of a cuddler. _Maaaybe_ Snotlout, but…” She shrugged. “But, like I said, that’s only _if_ we stay together for the long run.”

“I don’t know. Four years is a fairly long time t’ be courtin’ for most folks.”

“Yeah, but we’re still young.” She leaned back slightly. “And, to be fair, we’re still not entirely sure if we like…really like one another or actually _love_ each other. If that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Thora assured her, returning the bottle to the shelf. “An’ ya know if it’s somethin’ ya ever need t’ talk about, I’m here for ya.”

Ruffnut smiled. “I know. At the moment, though, it’s not too big of a deal. We enjoy each other’s company, whether what we’re doing is friendly or romantic.” She shrugged. “That’s all that really matters, right?”

“Aye, it is.” As Dagrun started to get fussy, she went over and scooped her daughter up from Ruffnut’s arms. “The best partners are the ones ya can call ‘friend’ even when you’re old.” Sitting down in her chair, she used her tail to pull down a bit of her dress so she could nurse Dagrun. “Could ya bring me the stool? I forgot it.”

Getting up, Ruffnut did just that. “Need anything else? Maybe some tea for you while she nurses?”

She shook her head and lifted her feet so Ruffnut could set the stool down. “I’m good. Feel free t’ help yourself, though.”

Nodding, Ruffnut headed into the larder. Thora closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair, sighing quietly. Her brow rose and she quietly snorted at the little grunts and snorts coming from Dagrun as she fed.

“Child, you are one _noisy_ eater,” she murmured.

 

A few hours later found Thora and Dagrun walking through the village. She was occasionally stopped by family friends who wanted to coo over the little girl or who wanted to make sure Thora was doing alright. As such, what was supposed to be a ten-minute walk to Gobber’s home took nearly thirty.

“There’re my girls!” Gobber chirped when she stepped in, still having to duck as she passed through the doorway. “It’s been a couple o’ days. I was startin’ t’ get worried!” He plucked off his hook attachment, replacing it instead with one that resembled a rattle.

“Da’, I live ten minutes from ya,” Thora chuckled, unstrapping Dagrun from her back. She loosened the swaddling blanket before passing her over to Gobber. “If you were _that_ worried, you’d have run over as fast as ya could.”

“Ya got me there, lovey.” He made a silly face at Dagrun. She returned the look with a toothless smile. “An’ how’s this lil’ one been?”

“Stinky.” Thora sat down after retrieving an apple from the larder. “She woke up from her nap an’ almost her entire lower half was coated in poo.”

He frowned as he lightly shook the rattle over Dagrun. “Ah, just like her mommy used to do,” he sighed. “Though, you were a bit older when ya exploded out o’ your diapers. You were eatin’ solids by then. Mostly fruit…Which would explain the amount o’ poo now that I think o’ it.” He used the rattled to scratch his chin.

Thora’s cheeks burned a bit; it didn’t help that she had just taken a bite from her apple. “I’ll be sure t’ not let her overindulge on the fruit when she’s older,” she replied, voice dull. She watched as Dagrun’s arms slipped out from her blankets, wobbling as she reached for her grandfather’s fake hand.

“An’ you’ll be sure t’ chew her meat up real good, aye?”

“O’ course. Unless she’s teethin’ by then.”

“Oh, it’ll be awhile before she starts teethin’. You didn’t have all o’ yours when Johann brought ya t’ me. Ya had your tusks an’ a couple o’ your front teeth. Don’t think ya got the rest until a few months later. Speakin’ o’ which, is this set bigger than the ones ya lost?”

Sticking her tongue out of her mouth, she felt along one of her regrown tusks. “I think it is,” she replied, surprised to find that it ended beyond the reach of her tongue. “I hadn’t really noticed, t’ be honest.” She felt one with her fingers only to shake her hand as she pricked herself on its end. “I know they’re sharper than before…”

“Well, if ya want t’ file them down a wee bit, ya know where I keep the files for the dragon teeth,” he half joked. Shifting Dagrun, he positioned her so that she was lying on her stomach on his chest. “Seein’ a whole new world are ya, my wee lil’ lady?” he chuckled.

Dagrun had lifted her head and was looking around with wide eyes at the ‘new’ surroundings. Her tail occasionally flipped around; it would be a few _years_ before she had a handle on using it.

“Sorry you’re not as high up as ya are when you’re on your mommy’s shoulder,” Gobber smiled, gently rubbing her back with the rattle. “But, someday, you might be almost as tall as her.”

“Eh, she might get t’ be about your height.” She took another bite of her apple. “Dagur was short,” she continued as she chewed. “She’ll be somewhere in the middle.” She ignored the slight scrunching of Gobber’s nose as she mentioned Dagur’s name.

“I think she’ll be closer t’ your height. The troll blood runs strong in ya, an’ I can already tell it’s goin’ t’ be runnin’ strong in her when she gets older.”

At that, Thora chuckled. “Ugh, I hope not. I remember how much of a wee devil I was…always climbin’ things an’ hidin’ from ya. Hangin’ from the chandelier in the Great Hall…”

“Stealin’ all o’ my left socks.”

Her brow rose. “Da…I never stole your stockings. Ya just wore them until the point that they disintegrated when ya _finally_ washed them.”

He pouted. “I had t’ make sure I got a good amount o’ wear an’ tear out of them.”

She gave him a mildly amused look as she chewed the last bite of apple. “Oh, they definitely went through wear an’ tear. Like I said, they _dissolved_ whenever we did the washing.” Tossing the apple core into the fire, she glanced over at the door.

Just a few seconds later, there was a knock.

“I’ll get it,” she told Gobber. “You’ve got a hand full o’ baby.” Rising from her seat, she went over to the door and opened it. She was more than a little surprised to find Hiccup standing on the other side; most of his free time lately had been spent exploring new reaches of the Archipelago. “Hey, Hiccup.”

“Had a feeling I’d find you here,” he chuckled. It was then she noticed that he was holding an exhausted-looking gull. “Toothless and I intercepted this guy -or girl- while we were out flying. Found _this_ on them.” He held up a roll of parchment sealed with wax. The crest in the wax was all-too familiar to Thora’s eyes: Ulfr’s crest.

“This is either very good or very bad,” she murmured, taking the scroll from him. ‘Nothing in the stones have said anything about ill tidings coming,’ she thought, returning to her seat. ‘Not for a long while, at least. And Freyr hasn’t spoken of anything…Not that he would, really. I haven’t been to him for questions regarding the future for quite a while…just visits.’

Hiccup followed her in, still holding the gull. “You would know if it was something bad though, right? From reading the rune stones all the time?” Walking over to Gobber, who was rather distracted by his daughter and her letter, he scooped Dagrun from his shoulder, replacing her with the gull.

“Well, I mean, I done general readings for myself an’ they all point to trouble bein’ in the distant future -I’m talkin’ _years_ from now. So, hopefully this is something good.” She carefully broke the seal, doing her best to not rip the parchment. Unfurling it, she found not Ulfr’s handwriting, but Sindri’s. ‘Of course. Sindri is the only one who knows how to write in our language…’

 

> _Little Sister Thora!_
> 
> _We are sorry we have been quiet for many months, but we have been busy with the rebuilding of parts of Enda Fjarðarins as well as building new parts. It seems home is getting bigger with each season!_
> 
> _Things are well with us. We wonder if your magic has returned and how your Berk family weathered the troubles. We also wonder what the troubles were? I am certain we will hear about it from you soon._

She paused, a guilty look coming over her face. “Crap…”

“What is it?” Gobber asked, frowning worriedly.

“Something bad?” Hiccup asked, gently bouncing Dagrun on his knee.

She shook her head. “No, no -nothin’ like that. I just…haven’t really told them anythin’ that’s happened in the last year or so…” As she spoke, she eyed her daughter who had a silly grin as Hiccup bounced her. “So, they…don’t really know they’re uncles.”

“Uh, yeah. I can see how that’s going to make for an awkward conversation next time you see them,” Hiccup chuckled. “But you’ve been busy! They can’t blame you for not writing.”

Gobber nodded in agreement. “On top o’ that, _they_ haven’t really been the most upstandin’ o’ citizens when it comes t’ writin’ their lil’ sister. I’d say you’re all just as guilty as each other.”

Thora rolled her eyes, but smiled. “ _Thanks,_ da’. But you’re right. We all are guilty.” She went back to reading, ignoring the somewhat smug grin her dad was now wearing.

He still hadn’t noticed he was holding a bird.

 

> _But! Am not writing to catch up, I am afraid. I am writing because our family has gotten an invitation to the midsummer festival held by Queen Ottalie, queen of trolls. Normally, not big deal. She always invites us. But this time, she wrote that she wants to see you there as well! _
> 
> _There are still number of weeks left until midsummer, but she would like reply from us soon. Something about food and accommodations? Ulfr knows more on that than I do._
> 
> _So yes! Please send answer soon. We will understand if are too busy to come, but if do come, we will have your room ready for you!_
> 
> _Many loves Little Sister,_
> 
> _Ulfr, Ormr, Sindri_

“Sooo…Nothing bad then?” Hiccup questioned as Thora let the parchment roll itself back up.

“No,” she smiled, relief on her features. “We’ve -meanin’ me an’ them- been invited t’ a festival bein’ held by the queen o’ trolls for midsummer. They were passin’ the information along t’ me an’ askin’ me t’ reply soon.”

Gobber smiled. “Well, that sounds like fun!” he chirped. “ _If_ ya go, not only will ya get t’ see your brothers an’ introduce this lil’ lady t’---” He suddenly paused, finally realizing that Dagrun was across from him on Hiccup’s lap. Looking at his shoulder, he let out a curse upon finding the gull in her place. “What in Odin’s name--! _Hiccup_!”

Hiccup wore a cheeky grin. “I just thought you could give the bird a better place to rest than I could.”

He lifted half his brow. “Is that a jab at my weight, young man?”

“Not at all. It’s a compliment! Look how muscular you are compared to me!” He looked down at Dagrun, making a silly face at her. “I’m nothin’ but a twig next to ol’ Grandpappy Gobber, aren’t I?” he cooed.

Dagrun let out a small laugh, managing to clap her hands together in delight.


	45. Chapter 45

It was nearing midnight.

Thora knew she should have been in bed, sleeping. She had _tried_ to go to sleep a few hours ago, when she had put Dagrun down for the night. But sleep evaded her.

After using her magic to carry Dagrun to her crib, she went into the main room. She stirred together the remaining coals and piled a few, small pieces of charred wood overtop them. It didn’t take her much breath to get the coals to heat up, lighting the wood. Soon, she had a small fire going once again.

Not that it was particularly cold. It was late spring and the nights were growing warmer. But, she did need the fire to make herself some tea. Surely, that would help her get some rest? If not, at least holding the warm mug felt nice.

She had just set the kettle on when she heard the sound of wings outside. They weren’t familiar wingbeats -there was a strange, almost metallic, sound to them. Her eyes narrowing somewhat, she made her way to the door. Opening it just a crack, she peered out into the night.

Thankfully, the sky was clear and the moon was halfway full, giving her plenty of light to see with. The dragon and rider hadn’t yet landed; they were still approaching. But, when they did land, Thora let out a tiny sigh of relief. She recognized the silhouette of dragon and rider all too well.

“Long time no see, Heather,” she chuckled, opening the door and stepping outside. “A bit late for a visit, isn’t it?”

The other woman let out a tired laugh as she dismounted from her dragon. “A bit late to be awake and out of bed, isn’t it?” she countered. As she pulled down her hood, Thora saw a tired smile on her lips. “I’m glad _someone’s_ awake, though. I didn’t want to sleep on the ground again.”

“Aye, the ground isn’t the most comfortable o’ places at times. Windshear, go ahead an’ nestle down in Death’s roost with her. There should be some meat an’ water left from her feedin’ earlier.”

Windshear made an appreciative noise before trotting off into the building beside the house.

Heather, on the other hand, followed Thora into the main house. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw the fire going. Dropping the large bag she carried, she made a bee-line for it, her hands extended so they could feel the warmth. Thora cocked her brow, a bit concerned.

“Would ya like some blankets an’ some tea?” she offered.

“That’d be lovely, thanks.”

“Rough journey?”

The look Heather gave her said everything. “You have _no_ idea,” she replied. “But…There were some… _surprises_ along the way.”

“Oh?” Her tail opened a trunk and she pulled out one of her heavy, winter blankets. “How so? Did ya find somethin’ out about Oswald?”

“In a way? Yeah. Oh gods, you’re such a blessing.” She took the blanket as Thora handed it over, not bothering to take off her cloak before wrapping herself up in the blanket. “I haven’t been able to get properly warm since I left the Ice Lands…”

Thora’s eyes widened. “Ya went _that_ far north?!” she quietly gasped. “What in Midgard drove ya t’ go all the way up _there_?”

A guilty smile came to Heather’s lips; the look reminded Thora very much of Dagur. “I… _may_ have made an enemy or two…or three…”

Closing her eyes, Thora shook her head. “Go on,” she sighed, moving to make them both some tea. In her mug, she put chamomile and honey; Heather got cinnamon and blackberry.

She took the mug as it was handed to her. “Thanks. And, well…It all started when I was searching around Gaul. I had heard of some leads about my dad being seen within the last year or two along the coast. Everyone had said the same thing, though: He went inland. So, I went inland and found…trouble. Lots of it. The closer I got to Rome, the more I was coming to realize that the people there were trying to completely _eradicate_ dragons.”

Pausing, she took a small sip of her tea. A sigh of relief left her mouth as the warm liquid trailed down her throat. “This is good.”

“Cinnamon t’ warm ya an’ blackberry for flavor.”

“They work well together.” She took another drink before resting the mug on the floor. “Anyway, yeah. They were worse than the hunters. And, despite being all sorts of different clans, everywhere I went, I saw the same crest: A dragon’s head with a sword through it.”

Thora frowned. Why did that sound familiar?

“There was a point that I had gotten fed up with a clan of these people. We were out of supplies, so I had no choice but to go to one of their cities. I had hidden Windshear in the forest, knowing better than to bring her with me. Inside the walls of the place, it was…” Sighing, she leaned back against the chair, taking another drink of tea. “Alright, for most people it wasn’t bad. It was clean, there was plenty of food and work, and the people seemed happy. But there were dragon parts being sold everywhere. There was an entire section of the city dedicated to holding the still-living dragons they had caught.”

“Ya freed them, didn’t ya?”

Heather nodded, not looking as guilty this time. “I had to. I couldn’t just leave them there to be killed and turned into someone’s dinner or cloak!” She stretched her legs out in front of her and kicked off her boots. Scooted her chair closer to the fire, she started to warm her feet. “They should have expected _some_ sort of retribution for the way they treated me.” A small snarl came to her lips. “Calling me whore material and asking how much a night in my bed would cost…They’re lucky I didn’t slit their throats on the spot!” Her voice has started to rise in anger.

“Shh,” Thora gently scolded. “You’ll wake Dagrun.”

A look of realization overcame her features and she smacked her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she whispered, her voice muffled by her palm. “I’m sorry; I forgot!”

“It’s alright,” she reassured her. “I’d start shoutin’, too, if folks were callin’ me such names.” She sipped her own tea. “So, ya snuck back into the place that night an’ free all the dragons ya could?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Another village, though, I _may_ have freed the dragons and then set fire to their weapon house.” Thora gave her a surprisingly motherly look, making her once again grin with guilt. “They deserved it.”

“Oh?”

“They tried to arrest me for being too independent and showy for a woman.”

“What?!”

“I know. Crazy, right? But what do you expect? I was fairly close to Rome at that point.” She shook her head before draining the rest of her tea. “I headed back north after that. I was still a good ways inland. I don’t remember the name of the places I saw, but apparently the whole time I was in some apparently great ruler’s territory—”

“…Bludvist territory?” Thora suggested, a great deal of caution in her voice.

Heather snapped her fingers and pointed at her. “That’s the one. Bludvist territory!” She then frowned. “Wait, how do you know about it?”

“Sindri -one o’ my brother’s- told me about him.” She let out a heavy sigh. “He enslaves the dragons he finds useful. The rest? Well, ya can guess what happens t’ the rest. He’s no friend t’ my people, either. Apparently, he was once upon a time, but when he was given enough gold by the veiðimenn, he turned on us…”

“Sounds like a _lovely_ man,” Heather muttered.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Thora murmured, tone heavy with sarcasm. “But, enough o’ him. What about Oswald?”

She nodded. “Right. Oswald. So, I found nothing that far inland about him, so I went back to Gaul. There, I found two things of interest with even more interesting stories to go with them.” Wriggling out of the blanket, she went over to the bag she had dropped near the door. She dragged it over to her seat before opening it and fishing around in it. “This first piece, I was told, belonged to Oswald…and that I had missed him by just a few days.”

From the bag, she pulled out a large, wide belt. Its buckle was all-too familiar to Thora: A large, bronze disc emblazoned with a Skrill in flight. Dagur had worn one quite similar, though the rivets on this belt were far smaller the ones on Dagur’s. The belt, too, looked like it was meant to go around a man the width of Stoick.

“That’s…definitely a Berserker belt if ever I saw one,” she murmured, eyes wide. “But, where did ya find it? An’ why was it there?”

“My dad had apparently run out of money, so he traded this in exchange for food and shelter for two nights.” With a small, almost sad, smile, she lowered the belt, holding it against her waist. It didn’t suit her like it had Dagur, but it certainly helped to make her look more regal. “I was able to get it by trading the woman six of Windshear’s scales formed into an armored skirt like mine. It took me a day to make, but she threw in a free meal and a warm bed while I worked.”

“That was kind o’ her. Was she able t’ give ya any another information?”

“Just that he was heading north.” She wrapped the belt back up and put it back in the bag.

Thora somewhat frowned. “But…if ya had missed him by two days, surely ya could have easily caught up t’ him? Humans walk far slower than dragons fly.”

“To be honest, I _could_ have caught up to him. But…” She rubbed the back of her neck, her other hand still in the bag. “The other thing I found -and the news I found out with it- I had to come back here as soon as I heard it.”

Thora was about to ask why when her voice caught in her throat. Heather had pulled out a breast plate covered with metal-embossed leather. Tears instantly started welling in her eyes as it was handed to her and she was forced to swallow a sob.

“Dagur’s breastplate,” she whispered, her tail holding it as she ran her fingers over the metal work. Her jaw quivering, she looked up at Heather. “But—but how? An’ where?” Unconsciously, she clutched the armor to her chest, her eyes closing.

“I found it for sale in a coastal town near Denmark,” she quietly answered, “along with his skirt and leg armor, but I could only afford that. But, Thora, there’s something else. Something far more important.”

She said nothing, but she did open her eyes to look at Heather.

“The person I bought it from was a slave trader,” she continued. “He told me the slave was _alive_ when he confiscated it.”

“What?” she gasped, her brows furrowing. “But…No. No, it couldn’t have been him. There was—there was no trace o’ him. An’—an’ he…he died in…” She bit her tongue, clenching her eyes shut as the memory of that day started to play out. “No, no…go away,” she mumbled.

Getting to her feet, Heather went over to her and carefully pulled the breastplate from her grip. She then set her hands on Thora’s shoulders, giving her a small shake to help bring her back to the present.

“I thought the same thing,” she told her. “I _knew_ there was no way that it would have been Dagur wearing that armor. But the slaver told me that the slave had flaming red hair, blue tattoos over his left eye, and a nasty scar covering the right side of his face.”

Thora stared at her, her jaw still shaking. She didn’t know whether she should believe her sister-in-law or not; Dagur had died before her eyes! And even after searching for days, they had found no sign of his body.

“But…how?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, pulling Thora into a hug. “But I do know that he _is_ alive. And…I was even told where he was sold to.” She felt her weakly return the hug. “He was sold to -and _this_ is the crazy part- a _troll woman_.”

“WHAT!?” she cried, tearing herself away from Heather to stare at her in disbelief.

Both women suddenly flinched as a startled wail came from the other room.

“You woke the baby,” Heather told her, voice dry, “after telling _me_ not to.”

“I couldn’t help it!” she retorted, getting to her feet. “First ya tell me my dead husband is actually _alive_ , then ya tell me he was sold t’ a _troll_!” Entering her bedroom, she used her magic to fill the room with a soft light. “Shh, shh…it’s alright, lil’ one. Mommy just got surprised.”

Dagrun whimpered as she wriggled in her crib. She wailed again and again, finally ceasing when Thora carefully scooped her up and cradled her against her chest.

“Shh…it’s alright, my love,” she cooed, her tail gently stroking her head. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s goin’ t’ keep ya safe.”

As she cooed to her child, she closed her eyes. If what Heather had said was true, that the slaver had _actually_ sold Dagur…then he _was_ alive. He was _alive_. Dagrun wouldn’t grow up without her father.

‘But he was sold off to a troll woman,’ she thought, biting her tongue. ‘He’s alive, but how am I supposed to get him back? Would Ulfr buy him from the woman?’ She tasted blood and mentally cursed herself as she stopped biting her tongue. ‘Or would we have to buy him back _and_ provide a new slave? I don’t know how slavery works…’

“I can’t believe your daddy’s alive,” she whispered to Dagrun. She kissed the top of her head. “Ya may get t’ know him after all…my lil’ miracle.”

She heard a small noise behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Heather poking her head in. Turning, she let Dagrun see her. “Look who’s here, Dagrun: Auntie Heather! I don’t suppose ya remember her, but then again, ya probably don’t remember half the folk you’ve met just yet.”

Heather chuckled, coming into the room. “Did mommy wake you up?” she cooed, reaching over and gently stroking the baby’s cheek with the back of her finger. “She’s gotten so chubby since I last saw her!”

“Well, aye. She was barely a month old then,” Thora smiled. “She’s ‘bout five or six months now, I think?”

Dagrun whimpered again and, balling her hand into a tiny fist, rubbed her eyes.

“Aw, sleepy baby,” Heather giggled. She graciously accepted Dagrun as Thora offered to let her hold her. “Do you need a lullaby to help you get back to sleep?”

“She loves bein’ sung to,” Thora smiled. “Sadly, I don’t have a very good singing voice, so it’s normally Ruff an’ Tuff doin’ the singin’.”

Heather cocked a brow. “ _Those_ two can sing?”

“Better than me an’ that’s all that matters.”

Shaking her head, Heather shifted Dagrun so that she was lying down in her arms. She then started to gently rock her.

 

_Land of bear and land of eagle_

_Land that gave us birth and blessing_

_Land that called us ever homewards_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_Land of freedom land of heroes_

_Land that gave us hope and memories_

_Hear our singing hear our longing_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_Land of sun and land of moonlight_

_Land that gave us joy and sorrow_

_Land that gave us love and laughter_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

_When the land is there before us_

_We have gone home across the mountains_

_We will go home, we will go home_

_We will go home across the mountains_

 

Heather smiled as she finished singing; Dagrun was once more fast asleep. Carefully, she carried the child to her crib, doing her best to lay her down as gently as possible so as to not wake her. Once she was down, Heather covered her with her blanket before she and Thora crept out of the room.

“She really is a cutie,” Heather chuckled once they were seated once more.

“She is,” Thora agreed. “Though, I’m dreadin’ the day she learns t’ walk an’ the day she gets control over her tail.”

“Fearing she’ll be a little hellion, are you?”

“No. I _know_ she’ll be one. I was an’ Dagur was. Unless somewhere along the line, one o’ our ancestors was a sweet lil’ Valkyrie…I’m goin’ t’ have a Hel of a time with her.”

Heather rubbed the back of her neck, offering her a small smile. “But hey: At least you _might_ have Dagur back?” she told her. “I didn’t get to tell you the rest of what I found out before you woke Dagrun.”

Thora’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “There’s more?”

She nodded. “Oh yeah. I was able to bribe the slaver into giving me the woman’s name and where she lives.”

“Really?! How much did _that_ cost ya?”

Heather frowned. “Every last bit of gold and silver I had, plus some of Windshear’s scales,” she sighed. “But, it was worth it.”

“So, what was the woman’s name?”

“While she wasn’t the direct buyer, the slaver told me that Dagur was being taken to the far north, to a troll woman named Urd…something-eater. I don’t remember the full surname. She apparently lives in the extreme north, near a place called Finnmark?” The guilty smile returned. “That was another reason I was so far north -I was trying to find Finnmark. But it’s hard when you don’t have a very good map.”

A thoughtful look came to Thora’s face. The name was familiar to her, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe she had heard it during one of Ulfr’s lectures on the various troll tribes…

She ran her hand over her hair. “I don’t know who she could be or quite where that is,” she admitted, “but my brothers would.”

“That’s right! Aren’t they like, princes or something? Dagur and Ryker were always calling you a princess.”

“Eh, sort of? We’re the children of a chief, which is below the king an’ queen, but we’ve still got some status to us. It’s different from the monarchy here on the Archipelago. It’s far more complicated.”

She nodded in understanding. “Well, there’s more people on the mainland, so I’d imagine it’d be different. So, I guess we send your brothers a Terror mail?”

At that, Thora smiled. “No need. I’m actually leavin’ in two days t’ go stay with them for a while.”

“Really?”

“Aye. We were invited t’ some festival bein’ held by the queen o’ trolls, so we’ll be goin’ t’ that. And…I’ll be introducin’ Dagrun t’ her uncles.” She covered her mouth as she suddenly yawned. The tea was finally starting to work. “If ya want, ya can come along. We could ask them ‘bout Urd an’ see if there’s a way we could get Dagur back. Maybe there’s some sort o’ law statin’ that husbands can’t be sold without the wife knowin’ or somethin’?” She shrugged. “I don’t really know how slavery works…”

“Not _quite_ as nice as that,” Heather told her, a grim look on her face. “But, yeah. I think I’ll come with you. After all, you’re going to need some help with that chubby baby of yours once you’re away from the twins and Snotlout,” she smiled.

Thora rolled her eyes. “While that is _somewhat_ true, I’ll have ya know I’m perfectly capable o’ takin’ care o’ her on my own.”

Standing up, she went over to the wall where a wide, low (low to her, at least) bench was resting. Blue light darted out from her feet, racing across the room to the chest of spare blankets. Heather watched as various furs and cushions floated through the air only to land on the bench. She then let out a quiet, startled noise as her bag shifted; it, too, started floating towards the bench, tucking itself neatly underneath.

“Do ya need anythin’ t’ eat before bed?” she asked.

Heather shook her head. “No. Now that I’m _finally_ warm, I’m good to go. Thanks, though.” She stood up, heading over to the makeshift bed.

“If you’re up before me -which I doubt will happen- ya get into the larder by pullin’ on this jar.” She wrapped her tail around the last jar on a nearby shelf, giving it a small tug. A seam appeared in the wall and a door was revealed.

“Still having to hide your food?” she laughed.

Thora smiled. “Not quite. I just like havin’ little secret rooms.”

Heather snorted. “I suppose that’s a good enough reason.” Shedding her metallic skirt and her outer tunic, she let out a sigh and slid into the bed. Thora’s magic was busy, disassembling the fire. Thora, on the other hand, was picking up Dagur’s breastplate and carrying it with her to her room. “Hey, Thora?” she quietly called before Thora could disappear entirely.

She stopped, turning to look at her. “Hm?”

“We’ll get him back. I know we will.”

Thora smiled back at her, though it didn’t quite bear the same hope and enthusiasm as Heather’s voice. “I hope so.”


	46. Chapter 46

“Oh, sure. You _just_ get here only to leave again? How is _that_ fair?”

Heather gave an apologetic smile to Astrid. “Sorry, Astrid, I _really_ am. But there’s been so much upset on the mainland lately, I want to make sure Thora and Dagrun make it to Enda Fjarðarins safe and sound.” It was a partial lie, but she knew Astrid wouldn’t be able to argue against it.

Astrid pouted, lightly punching Heather’s shoulder. “You better stay longer next time,” she scolded. “I miss having someone with brains and brawn that I can talk with.”

“You have Hiccup!”

“I said brains _and_ brawn,” she chuckled. Looking ahead of her, she smiled as she saw Stormfly and Windshear playing a few yards away. Also watching them was Death Dance; she looked like she wanted to join in, but she was far too large to play safely. “Hiccup’s got the brains, yeah, but he’s still a twig.”

Cocking her brow, Heather rolled her eyes. She still wore a grin, however. “Well, then, you’ll just need to get him on one of your work out regimes, now won’t you?” she joked, making sure her voice was heavy on the sarcasm.

Astrid, however, seemed to actually be considering such a thing. “You know, that may work,” she murmured, resting a curled index finger on her chin. “If I start making him workout with me, he _may_ gain some muscle and finally-”

Heather smacked her forehead. “It…was just a joke, Astrid. Hiccup’s _got_ muscles. I’ve seen him carry Thora while she was seven months pregnant -he _doesn’t_ need to work out. His muscles are just leaner than most Hooligans. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Astrid laughed. “And _I_ was joking, too,” she grinned. “You know I already put him through him enough.”

She snorted. “No kidding. Last time I was here, you were sitting on his back while he _struggled_ to do a pushup.”

“I wasn’t _sitting_ on him,” she playfully argued. “I was _lounging_ on his back. And it was only for a minute just to tease him.”

Her brow rising, Heather shook her head with a grin. “Mhm. I’ll believe that when Midgard freezes over.”

“So…you’ll believe it when winter comes? Sounds good.”

Both women burst out laughing, startling their dragons.

Astrid wiped away a tear of mirth. “Do you _really_ have to go?” she questioned. “I haven’t had a laugh this good in a long time.”

“I’m afraid so,” she replied, wearing an apologetic smile. “Like I said, the mainland isn’t the safest of places right now and I want to make sure Thora and Dagrun get to Enda Fjarðarins safe and sound.”

“We could send Ruff and Tuff in your stead. They’re protective of those two. She’ll be safe with them!”

“Yeah, but think of the trouble they’ll cause once they’re in a city filled with non-humans,” she countered. “They could start some sort of war in the name of wreaking havoc.”

“Hey! We wouldn’t start some sort of war!” The two women turned, seeing the Thorston twins walking towards them. Held between them was one of Thora’s trunks.

Ruffnut shifted the weight of her end of the trunk. “Yeah, no kidding. Maybe start a tavern brawl or something, but a war? Pft.”

“We may be followers of Loki, but we’re not following _that_ path of his,” Tuffnut added. “Just the pranks and shapeshifting.”

Astrid crossed her arms over her chest as the twins set the trunk down. “We’ve been over this, Tuffnut: You _can’t_ shapeshift like Loki. You’re not a god.”

“Technically, neither is Loki,” Ruffnut told her, “despite being Odin’s blood brother and being among those who drink with the rest of the æsir -that’s all due to a promise Odin made to Loki.”

“Though, both Odin _and_ Loki have been known to change their shapes,” Tuffnut reminded his sister, “though Loki is better known for it.”

Astrid stared at the two, unsure whether she should be impressed or scared by how well they retained knowledge of the gods. Heather, however, chuckled.

“Gotta hand it to them,” she said, nudging Astrid, “they know their stuff.”

“But, of course, it’s nothing that’s _useful_ ,” Astrid sighed. “Now if they knew how to _summon_ Odin to come help us out with trying to make the village fireproof, that’d be another thing.”

The twins looked almost offended by her words. “But Loki is the _god_ of fire!” Tuffnut scolded. “Sure, Odin’s got wisdom and all that, but when it comes to making things fireproof? You’d want Loki.”

“Or maybe Thor,” Ruffnut added, climbing onto Death Dance’s back. “Lightning makes fire, after all.” Reaching down, she grabbed the handle of the trunk as Tuffnut heaved it upwards.

“Yeah, but he’s not nearly as cool as Loki,” he grunted.

“I wouldn’t risk sayin’ that out in the open like that, Tuff.” Thora came over, a second trunk held up on her shoulder. She rounded Death and made her way up her tail.

Astrid snickered as Tuffnut looked up at the sky, mild fear filling his eyes. He suddenly dropped his end of the trunk, making Ruffnut curse and nearly tumble off Death’s back as she was left with the majority of the weight. Both Heather and Astrid darted forward, catching the trunk before it and Ruffnut could fall and hit the ground.

Tuffnut, meanwhile, had fallen to his knees and was bowing multiple times. “Oh, Thor! Forgive me for my dumb words! Please don’t hit me with your lightning!” He then paused, a look of contemplation coming over his features. “But, if you do, can you make it some of that cool, ball lightning? That stuff’s really cool to see. Haven’t seen any since we last chased around the Skrill.”

“Tuff…these aren’t the right clouds for Thor’s weather,” Heather sighed. With Astrid’s help, the three women were able to get the trunk all the way onto Death’s back. Now Ruffnut was strapping it into place. “I think you’re safe. _For now_.”

He grinned cheekily, shrugging. “Worth a shot,” he told her. “I didn’t think Thor would give us a show right now, anyway. Too many other people around who could get hit. I mean, of the five of us, only me and Ruff deserve to be hit by lightning. …Unless you’re into that kind of stuff, which I highly doubt you are.”

“Tuffnut, _neither_ o’ ya deserves t’ be hit by lightning,” Thora called down, her tone dry. “Now a good smack upside the head, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” Ruffnut pouted at her. “Only Tuffnut deserves that.”

“True.”

“What does Tuffnut deserve now?”

All five looked up as Gobber came hobbling over. Across his chest, he wore a sling, which Dagrun was curled up in. Normally, it was Thora who wore it; as such, it looked almost comical on him.

“A smack across the head,” Astrid told him. “Getting some last-minute grandpa time with Dagrun there?” she chuckled.

He pouted. “O’ course I am!” he declared, putting both hand and hook on his hips. “My wee lil’ granddaughter is goin’ t’ be gone for a few months! I need t’ get in all the snuggles I can!”

Thora poked her head up as she was buckling the seat of her saddle into place. “Da’, I _told_ ya: We’ll be gone, at most, two months.”

“Aye, well, ya never know with you. Who’s t’ say ya won’t find yourself some troll lad or lassie while you’re at that festival thing you’re goin’ to, hmm?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, returning to the work at hand.

Dagrun grunted, wriggling in her sling. Managing to get her hands freed from the blanket she had been swaddled in, she grabbed hold of one of Gobber’s mustache braids. He winced as she tugged, but managed a smile as he looked down at her.

“No, no, Daggy,” he said, his voice having a pained lilt to it. “Not grandpappy’s mustache.” He gently tried to pry her fingers from the braid, but it was of little use. She had a death grip on it. “Can I get a wee bit o’ help over here?”

Heather started to walk over, only to let out a yelp of surprise as Tuffnut bolted upright. He darted ahead of her, reaching Gobber before anyone else could.

“The trick is to tickle her,” Tuffnut told Gobber. He had to stand on his tiptoes in order to see Dagrun thanks to Gobber’s height and stomach. “She’s most ticklish right behind her ears. See? Like this.” He made silly little noises as he lightly wiggled his fingers against Dagrun’s scalp.

She startled to laugh, which was more of a raspy huff. She also started to kick her legs and wriggle about, further freeing her from her blanket. Much to Gobber’s relief, she finally released his mustache, allowing him to flick it over his shoulder and out of her reach.

“Ahh…much better,” he sighed. “I didn’t know she was ticklish behind the ears. How did ya find that one out?”

“Bathing her,” Tuffnut chirped, using his index fingers to gently smoosh Dagrun’s cheeks together. The child still laughed, bringing a wide grin to his face. “I was washing her hair and she started giggling like crazy when I got behind her ears.”

“I’ll have t’ keep that one in mind,” Gobber murmured. He cursed as Dagrun’s blanket suddenly went flying out of the sling and her chubby legs began to flail about. “Ack! Child! You are _definitely_ your mother’s child!”

Thora chuckled, blowing a lock of hair from her face. “Has she rediscovered her feet?”

“Oh yeah,” Tuffnut laughed. “She’s trying to decide whether or not they’ll make a good snack.”

Heather stuck her tongue out, but chuckled. “Oh, lovely. Baby toe jam. Goes best with baby boogers, I hear.”

Ruffnut nodded in agreement. “And eye goobers,” she added. “Occasionally, animal poop too.”

Astrid looked thoroughly disgusted. “Ugh! Why would you even _say_ that?” she frowned. “Thora’s not going to let her daughter eat _poop_!”

“You’d be surprised,” Gobber told her. “Children are craft buggers -more so if they’ve got troll blood. Turn your back on ‘em for just a second when they’re at the crawlin’ age an’ you could lose ‘em for hours. Happened with Stoick an’ Hiccup once.”

A wide grin spread across Heather’s face. “This we _have_ to hear.”

Gobber shrugged. “Not much t’ it, really. Stoick had t’ relieve himself an’ there was no one ‘round t’ watch Hiccup. He put him in his crib, went to do his business, an’ the next thing he knows, he’s scourin’ the village lookin’ for the wee tyke.” He paused, chuckling at the memory. “Found him five hours later curled up with Silent Sven’s chickens. His diaper was thoroughly soiled an’ he was a bit hungry, but other than that? He was _fine._ ”

“But he didn’t eat _poop_ ,” Astrid frowned.

“All babies eat poop at one point in their lives,” Ruffnut cackled. “I’ve done it, Tuff’s done it, Thora’s done it -it’s part of being a baby. You learn what _not_ to eat that way.”

“Ruffnut’s right,” Gobber agreed. “Babies get into all sorts o’ trouble. It’s what they do. It’s how they learn.”

Thora climbed down Death’s neck, brushing her skirt off. “I’ll try my hardest t’ _not_ let her eat such unappetizing things, but it’s bound t’ happen someday. Like da’ an’ Ruff said: It’s all a part o’ learning.”

Astrid merely stuck out her tongue. She refused to believe that _all_ children at poop at some point in their young lives. Some children? Yes, she could believe that. Snotlout being one of them. But not _all_ of them…

“Do ya have everything?” Gobber asked, approaching his daughter. “Food? Clothes? Diapers?”

“One trunk is almost entirely dedicated t’ Dagrun’s needs,” Thora assured him, wearing a tired smile. “So ya don’t have t’ worry.”

“And we’ve got plenty of food,” Heather added. “Not that we’ll need as much as we packed, since it’s only a -what? Two? Three? day- journey.”

Thora nodded, scooping Dagrun out of the sling. “It’s a short trip an’ I know the way well enough that we won’t get lost.”

Gobber nodded, though he looked a bit worried as he watched her cradle the child against her shoulder. “Fair enough. But, I’m allowed t’ fret over you an’ Daggy here,” he told her. “She’s so young t’ be travelin’…”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s why Heather’s comin’, da’,” she told him, voice quiet. “T’ help keep us safe if we come across any sort o’ trouble.”

“Aye, I know. I’m just bein’ an old worrywart an’ ya know it.”

“O’ course I do.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Gobber’s. “We’ll be back before ya know it. An’ who knows? Maybe I’ll bring ya back a new hand or somethin’?” She wore a teasing grin as she pulled back.

He let out a hearty laugh. “Make it a gold one,” he joked. “I’ve always wanted somethin’ nice an’ fancy t’ smack people with.”

She rolled her eyes, but wore a grin as well. “Would ya like that encrusted in fancy jewels an’ pearls?”

“Hmm…nah. But maybe ya can get Johann a nice, fancy hat.”

“Oh, no. He’s _your_ boyfriend. _You_ get t’ buy him the fancy gifts.”

“Ya never know -he may be your stepfather soon enough!”

“Oh, lovely. Another father t’ add t’ the family tree. Pretty soon, I’ll have enough t’ make my own Yggdrasil.”

The twins looked at one another, confused. “Wait, what? You’ve got more than one dad?” Tuffnut asked.

“Johann’s courting your dad?” Ruffnut questioned.

Sighing, Thora handed Dagrun to Ruffnut for last-minute aunt-and-uncle cuddles. “Technically, I’ve got three dead stepfathers,” she told explained, “so, countin’ da’, I’ve got four fathers. If he marries Johann like he’s threatenin’ to -an’ aye, Ruff, da’ an’ Johann are courting… _again_ \- I’ll have _five_ fathers.”

Ruffnut blinked, staring at her in disbelieve as she gently bounced Dagrun. “Wow. Good thing there isn’t like…some holiday to celebrate the dads in your life.”

“Yeah, you’d be screwed if there was,” Tuffnut chuckled. He leaned over, playing with Dagrun’s hands as Ruffnut continued to hold her. “You’ve got a lot of grandpas, you lil’ stinker.”

“Three of them are dead,” Thora reminded him, brow rising. She unclasped the sling from around Gobber. “So she won’t be meetin’ them anytime soon.”

Tuffnut glanced up at her. “You _hope_ so at least,” he said. “You never know: The gods may cast a curse upon humanity so that, when we die, we come back at mindless flesh vessels who crave the brains of the living!”

Even Dagrun gave him an odd look -and she didn’t understand a word he said.

“What?” He frowned. “It could happen! It could be part of the beginnings of Ragnarök!”

“Or it could just be your overactive imagination, knucklehead,” Ruffnut scolded, smacking him upside the head.

Thora shook her head, wrapping the sling around herself before clasping it into place. “It is _entirely_ his overactive imagination,” she said, voice bland. With some help from Ruffnut, she was able to get Dagrun swaddled up once more before placing her in the sling. “Make sure he doesn’t cause _too_ much trouble while we’re gone, aye?”

“I’ll try, but it’s going to be hard,” Ruffnut chuckled. “Have fun at your brothers’ place, alright? Think of it like a holiday away from us, where it’s just going to be peace, quiet, and three giant trolls fawning over this chubby cutie.”

Her brow rose, though she smiled. “Peace and quiet around my brothers? Ruffnut, it’s like I’ve told ya _nothin_ ’ about them,” she joked. She accepted a careful hug from her friend. “I’ll be sure t’ have fun, though.” She then hugged Tuffnut, who wore a pout.

“I still say the dead will someday rise up and eat our brains,” he murmured as they parted. “Maybe not _humans_ , but there’s bound to be some sort of brain-eating, undead dragon…” He flinched as Gobber smacked him upside the helmet with his hook.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, are you excited about reaching Enda Fjarðarins in the morning?”

Thora sighed, lighting shrugging as she poked at the fire. “To be honest? I’m more nervous than excited. What if they don’t know who this Urd woman is?”

“If she’s rich enough to have multiple slaves, then they probably know of her,” Heather assured her. “And if they don’t, we’re going to a festival held by the _queen_ of trolls. She’ll _definitely_ know something. And maybe she’ll be able to tell us about some obscure troll law that prevents husbands from being sold off.”

Thora rubbed the back of her neck as she drew her knees to her chest. “Possibly. That’s if the queen likes me enough t’ want t’ help me, though.”

“How can she _not_ like you?”

She gave Heather a bored look. “I can think o’ half a dozen reasons why off the top o’ my head. Give me time, an’ I can think o’ thrice that amount.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Well, I can think of twice as many reasons why she _would_ like you.” Reaching over, she rummaged through her pack. They had eaten dinner just a few hours ago, but she was already beginning to feel hungry again.

Raising her brow, Thora chuckled as she watched her. “Hungry already? Wasn’t the stew I made enough?”

“It was…but my stomach is still used to the weird schedule I had when traveling. I’d eat at odd hours, so this eating structured meals thing is messing with my stomach.”

“Understandable. Hopefully you’ll get better after a few days o’ stayin’ in one place.”

She shrugged. “Hard to say. I stayed for a few days in Berk, but my appetite is still off.”

Thora gave her an almost motherly look. “Ya stayed a night, left for a day, an’ then came back for a night before leavin’ again. I don’t care what ya say: Your body isn’t goin’ t’ be used t’ a _normal_ schedule for a while.”

Heather stuck her tongue out at her, earning a chuckle. “Change of subject. Are you excited to see your brothers again?” She pulled out some pieces of jerky. Tearing one in half, she popped it in her mouth and started chewing.

At that, Thora glanced away, a look of uncertainty on her face. “Er…”

“You’re…not?”

“No! No, I _am_ excited t’ see them. But, well…” She looked over at the bundle that was a sleeping Dagrun. “They don’t know they’re uncles.”

Heather cringed. “Ah, yeah…I can see how that would be a bit of a problem. But, from what you’ve told me about them, they sound like they’ll just be ecstatic over it?” She offered a hopeful smile. “And Dagrun is too cute to not love.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora found herself smiling. “True. I just…” She rubbed the back of her neck and let out a sigh. “The last time they saw me, I was still in mourning for Cæna. But now, just two years later, I’m a mother.”

She tilted her head, a bit confused. “I don’t know if it’s because I don’t know anything about troll lives, but I’m not seeing the problem here…? Young people who lose their lovers are able to move on, you know. Some move on faster than others. Or, there’s also the case of arranged marriages which is _sort of_ what happened with you.” She shrugged.

“That is true,” she sighed. “I’m just needlessly worryin’ myself, I guess.” She half-heartedly smiled. “I have a habit o’ doin’ that.”

“I’ve noticed.” Shifting, she brought one knew to her chest while the other was tucked beneath her.

“I may have t’ have ya hold Dagrun when we first arrive.”

“Oh?”

“Knowin’ Sindri will practically tackle me when he sees me. Ormr an’ Ulfr will be more restrained, but Ormr will still give me a tight hug. Ulfr will probably be the only one who _won’t_ accidentally injure me in some fashion.”

Heather chuckled. “Troll hugs can be _that_ dangerous, huh?” She ripped off another piece of jerky with her teeth.

“Let me put it this way: If I stand up as straight as I could, I’d _barely_ reach Ormr’s _knee_.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “…Is he the shortest?”

She shook her head. “Thankfully, no. He’s the tallest. Ulfr is the shortest -I reach his hips. Sindri is in the middle; I come t’ about the top o’ his thigh.”

“So, you’re kind of like a runt compared to them, huh?” she chuckled. “That must have been a pain when you were living with them. All that huge furniture…”

Thora smiled. “Oh, no worries there. They’ve two selkies who live with ‘em an’ they’re shorter than ya. Sindri made sure there were stairs to _everywhere_ so that they -an’ I- could reach things. It’s actually really neat how they did it.”

“Well, then, I can’t wait to see their home. That is, _if_ they let me stay. I don’t think you had time to tell them that you were bringing a friend.”

“Oh, it’ll be no problem,” she assured her. “Once they hear that you’re with me, they’ll let ya stay. They’ve been wantin’ t’ meet some o’ my friends anyway. I’m not sure they’ll be able t’ get accommodations ready for ya right away, but ya can stay in my room. Trust me when I say my bed could fit six humans in it _with_ room t’ spare.”

Her eyes widened again, though this time she was more impressed than shocked. “Wow. I’ve…actually never really had a bed,” she admitted. “I’ve always slept in hammocks or on the ground.”

Thora gave her a quizzical look. “…Really?” She nodded. “Well, you’re missin’ out. Beds are wonderful. Especially if you’re able t’ get your wee one t’ sleep through the night so ya don’t have t’ worry ‘bout _leavin’_ said bed three or four times a night.” With a sigh, she leaned back against a tree trunk before using her magic to carefully lift Dagrun.

“She seems to be sleeping quite well now.”

Nestling the child in the crook of her arm, Thora closed her eyes. “Give her half an’ hour or so. She’ll wake up, demandin’ t’ either be fed or have her butt changed.” She tiredly smiled despite her words. “I will admit, though…she’s a lot easier t’ handle than a lot o’ my sickly patients.” She used her tail to cover her mouth as she yawned.

“I would imagine,” Heather smiled. Stretching out, she laid down on the ground and tucked her hands behind her head. “She’s also a lot cuter than a lot of your patients.”

Thora smiled, though Heather didn’t see it. “Too true.”


	47. Chapter 47

“Wow. This place is… _huge_.”

Cocking her brow, Thora looked down at Heather as they passed through a wide, stone gate. “Welcome t’ Enda Fjarðarins, the last stronghold o’ non-human folk,” she told her. “In the north, at least. If ya thought knowin’ a half-troll was somethin’ t’ brag about, wait until ya see the kind o’ people who live here.”

Heather ran a hand through her hair, finding herself more than a little flummoxed. “I mean, you did say that this place was huge and diverse, but I guess I couldn’t really imagine just _how_ huge and diverse you meant.” Looking skywards, she watched as Death Dance led Windshear in a wide loop around the city, helping the smaller dragon get a good idea of just where they were. She then looked down as Thora’s tail wrapped around her waist, gently guiding her walk closer to her.

“It’s easy t’ get lost here,” she gently warned, “especially when we’re in the _large_ section o’ town. Things will get more ‘normal’ sized the closer we get t’ the center o’ the city.”

She slowly nodded, turning her head this way and that as they walked. Around them were all sorts of creatures: Trolls towered above them while dwarves weaved their way through their legs. Closer to human height were beings that Heather recognized to be huldras; from the front, they had an ethereal beauty to them, but in the center of their backs were enormous, black holes.

The closer they got to the center of the city, she found more ‘average’ height beings: Men and women with the upper half of humans but the lower halves of goats; fearsome-looking women who had large wings and feathery hindquarters that ended in taloned feet; beings with the heads of dogs and horse-like necks, but human bodies; and the strangest of them all were beings with the bodies of enormous cats, the wings of a hawk, but the head and breasts of a human woman.

“A lot o’ these folks are traders,” Thora told her. “The ones with dog heads an’ the lion-women are from Africa. The satyrs are from Greece, though most o’ them are refugees.”

“And the bird women?”

“From the Mediterranean as well, though I don’t know much ‘bout them. I think Ormr called ‘em harpies?” She shrugged. “He warned me not t’ get on their bad side. I guess they’re some sort o’ berserker-type warrior or something.”

Heather cocked her brow. “By berserker, do you mean my people or the warriors who can channel the ferocity of animals in battle?”

“The latter, o’ course.”

She nodded in understanding. Glancing up at Thora’s back, she saw that Dagrun was fast asleep in her wrap. “How can she sleep through all this noise?”

A wry smile came to Thora’s lips. “Take a guess.”

Squinting somewhat, Heather was able to see the faint, blue glow around the child’s ears. “Ahh. That makes sense,” she chuckled. “So, about how long until we get to your brother’s place…?”

“A while. There’s a food stall I need t’ stop at first.”

“A…food stall?”

“Aye. Hopefully, they’re still in business. If they’re not, I’m goin’ t’ be devastated.”

Heather didn’t press her further, but continued to follow her with a skeptical look. Soon enough, they had pushed their way through the midday crowd and were approaching a stall run by a small, bearded woman: A dwarf dame. The moment she laid eyes on Thora, she let out a cry of joy and darted out from behind the counter.

“Thora! Brothers not tell me you come for visit!”

“Kelda!” Kneeling down, Thora hugged the woman. “They’re probably distracted,” she chuckled. “Can’t blame ‘em: They’ve got a city t’ run.”

The woman smiled. “Too true, too true. Sindri, though, visit often. He buys lots of cakes! Is now best customer -though, now that you are back, may change.” She giggled. “How have been?”

Thora let out a theatric breath and glanced away. “Good an’ bad, t’ be honest. But hopefully more good is comin’ t’ me in the future.” Standing up, she dusted off her knees.

 Kelda put her hands on her hips and looked Thora over. “Hm. Hair shorter, tusks longer…” She squinted slightly. “And are mother now.”

Thora blinked; Dagrun was well hidden in the middle of her back. “How did…?”

“Breasts are larger and are wearing dark colors up top,” Kelda said, matter-of-factly.

Behind Thora, Heather cracked up. “She’s got a point,” she said, watching as Thora’s cheeks darkened.

“Aye, well…that’s the joys o’ nursin’,” Thora mumbled, glancing away from the two.

Kelda grinned cheekily before reaching up with a grabbing motion. “Come, come! Let’s see little one!”

Rolling her eyes, Thora smiled before carefully removing both the wrap and Dagrun from her back. The child was awake -but only just. Her eyes were half lidded as she tried looking around. “Her name’s Dagrun,” she told Kelda, carefully handing her over.

Kelda made a soft cooing noise as she cradled Dagrun. “Is so little for having you as mother! Father must be dwarf.”

Both Heather and Thora snorted. “Not a dwarf,” Heather said, “just short.”

“Hm. Well, should get bigger as she ages. Has strong troll blood in her,” Kelda smiled.

Thora let out a small, half-hearted laugh. “Aye…I’m kind o’ fearin’ that, t’ be honest. This is Heather, by the way. She’s my sister-in-law. Heather, this is Kelda. She’s the one with the satyr husband I told ya about.”

“Told her about husband, but not cream cakes?” Kelda joked. “Am shocked!” She softly clicked her tongue and stroked Dagrun’s chubby cheek. “How old?”

“Less than a year. An’ I told her about your cakes. It’s one o’ the reasons why we came here first instead o’ my brothers’.”

At that, Kelda’s brow rose and she glanced up. “Came here before brothers’? Ooh, do not tell them that. Will get jealous.” She giggled again, now removing Dagrun’s cap to reveal her fiery hair. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Was expecting grey, not fire! Mother’s hair color seems strong, after all. Sindri have it, you have it…But, suits her. Is pretty shade. Not one often seen here -at least, not in hair. In fur and feathers, yes, but not hair.”

“The color’s more common on and near Britannia,” Thora told her. “An’, from what da’ told me, his grandma had red hair? So, it could have come from Dagur or from my great-grandmother.” As Dagrun started to grow fussy, she took her back from Kelda. “Shh, shh lil’ one. Mommy’s got ya.”

Dagrun tried wiggling against her wrap as she grunted and whined. Seeing her mother did little to calm her and Thora soon heard why.

“She’s got a minor case o’ colic,” she told the other two women. With Heather’s help, she was able to unwrap Dagrun and hold her against her shoulder. Using her tail, she started to gently massage her back.

“Should probably get her to quieter place, too,” Kelda said, giving the child a pitying smile. “Is in new, loud place. Probably wants some quiet. …Though, brothers aren’t quietest, but they know how to be around babies.”

Heather nodded in agreement. “True. She didn’t sleep well last night, either, so that’s probably also a factor.”

“More than likely,” Thora agreed, still rubbing Dagrun’s back. She then made a funny face as a small ripping sound came from Dagrun. “An’ o’ course, I’m downwind o’ her _relief_.” She sighed, lightly shaking her head.

“Before go!” Kelda ducked back into her stall before returning with a couple of cream cakes. Thora’s eyes widened with delight, making Kelda giggle. “Have snack for the road. Am sorry is not warm; last of this morning’s batch.”

“Fine with me,” Thora grinned. She leaned over, using her teeth to grab the cake from Kelda. For a moment, her tail left Dagrun’s back in order to hold the baked good.

“Thank you,” Heather said, nodding her head as she took the other cake. Taking a bite out of her, her brows rose in delighted surprise. “This is really good!” she exclaimed through a mouthful of cake.

“Told ya!” Thora chirped.

 

Half an hour later found them coming to the base of a hill. Thora was surprised; the wooden fence that once surrounded the hill had been replaced by an even larger, stone wall. More trees had been removed from around the perimeter, making the area more defensible should another battle happen.

Beside her, Heather stopped. Her eyes were wide and her jaw fell slack and Thora knew why: Ormr was at the top of the hill, tending to the garden that grew atop the roof.

“That would be Ormr,” she whispered, not wanting her brother to hear her just yet. “He’s the sea troll.”

Heather could only nod, her eyes still wide. She came out of her shocked stupor as colic-free Dagrun was plopped into her arms. “Wha--?”

Thora held her finger to her lips, motioning for her to be quiet. She walked a few paces away from Heather and Dagrun before letting blue light engulf her. Atop the hill, the plants on the roof started to rapidly grow.

Ormr stepped back, his brows furrowed in confusion. Then, hearing a giggle from some ways away, he looked down at the gate. His eyes widened and he grinned. Before he could say anything, however, a head poked itself out of the barn.

“Little Sister Thora!” Sindri cried, seeing his sister at the base of the hill. Both brothers started running towards Thora, who was bracing herself for impact.

To her luck, they didn’t tackle her like she thought they would. Instead, Sindri snatched her up and hugged her tightly. The breath was still forced out of her lungs, but she appreciated the hug much more than she would have the tackle.

“Let Little Sister breathe!” Ormr scolded, thwacking Sindri upside the head. “She has traveled long way and is tired probably. Doesn’t need you suffocating her!”

Thora laughed as Sindri pouted. “It’s fine, really. I’m used t’ troll hugs. Especially from the two o’ you.” She was passed over to Ormr, who gave her a gentler hug. “Where’s Ulfr?”

“Away on business. Should be back in day, two,” Sindri replied. It was then he noticed Heather standing some yards away. “Ah! This is friend you wrote about?”

Ormr set Thora down, allowing her to return to Heather’s side to properly introduce her. “Ormr, Sindri: This is Heather the…” She looked down at the human. “Er, I forgot your title…”

Heather chuckled, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “It’s not _officially_ my title, but I’m called Heather the Unhinged. It’s…a Berserker thing.” She smiled nervously at the two males; now that they were closer, she could see that their tusks were much longer than Thora’s -they were as long as her forearm at _least_.

“Is good name!” Sindri grinned. “Strikes fear into enemies.”

“Exactly,” Ormr agreed with a nod. “That why Ulfr is Ulfr the Unforgiving—Little Sister, is that a baby?” He squinted in confusion at Heather and Dagrun; he hadn’t been told about a baby coming along, too.

At that, Thora’s cheeks turned a dark shade of red. “Er…Aye, aye that would be a baby.” She took Dagrun back from Heather, using her tail to help turn her around for Ormr and Sindri to see. “Ormr, Sindri…Meet your niece, Dagrun.”

The two stared at her in shock. Dagrun, too, stared at them with wide eyes.

“We…we have niece?” Sindri muttered, skin somewhat pale.

“Since when?” Ormr gaped.

Thora looked away, guilt on her face. “Er…’bout half a year or so? I meant t’ write t’ ya once she was born, but things got incredibly busy. Between takin’ care o’ Dagrun an’ takin’ care o’ the rest o’ Berk…”

Her brothers shapeshifted themselves down to a more human-like height. Sindri was the first to step forward, his hand hesitantly reaching out and stroking Dagrun’s chubby cheek. She went cross-eyed as she tried to look up at her uncle, earning a small laugh from him.

“Looks very much like you, Little Sister,” he chuckled. “Take it hair came from father?”

Heather answered for her, “Yeah. Her father -who’s…my brother, actually- has crazy red hair. With how unruly Thora’s is and how disobedient Dagur’s is, little Dagrun here is going to have quite the untamable hair.” She quietly chuckled as Dagrun tried to grab hold of some of Sindri’s hair; it was filled with shiny, gold trinkets.

“Oh, no ya don’t, lil’ one,” Thora murmured, using her magic to pull Sindri’s hair over his shoulder. “Your lil’ grabby hands _hurt_ when you get hair.”

“Can hold?” Ormr asked, an amused smile on his lips.

“O’ course!”

Dagrun stared up at her blue-haired uncle as she gummed on her fist. She soon stopped, having noticed something: His face was covered in piercings and she wanted them. She also wanted the large, silver rings around his enormous tusks.

Naturally, she tried to reach for them.

“Hello, little one,” Ormr said to her, his voice quiet. He smiled, lifting his free hand and letting Dagrun grasp it. “Have strong grip for one so young.”

Sindri poked his head over Ormr’s shoulder, his eyes wide with fascination. “Said is half year?” he questioned, glancing up at Thora.

She nodded.

“She even smaller than you when you were newborn,” he continued, cocking his head. “But is mostly human. Is going to be small. Small, but cute. Very cute.” Using his tail, he reached over and lightly tickled Dagrun’s face with the end of his tuft of hair.

She blinked, looking more than a little surprised at the sudden appearance of the tail. Now distracted, she tried to reach for it instead.

“She’s still learnin’ how t’ use her limbs an’ hands,” Thora chuckled. She brushed some hair over her shoulder. “An’ how t’ look around properly. If ya noticed, she keeps goin’ cross-eyed.” She glanced up at the sky; there were dark, grey clouds beginning to roll in. “We should probably head inside. Rain’s comin’.”

Her brothers nodded in unison. “Yes, of course,” Ormr said, carefully bringing Dagrun closer to his person. “Are probably tired and hungry. Come; will get you fed and rested. Will have room readied for Lady Heather. Little Sister, room is how it was when left.”

“May need to make cradle, though,” Sindri chuckled, following Ormr as they started walking up the hill. “By way, where is Death Dance?”

“Somewhere in the sky with Windshear,” she answered. “Er, Heather’s dragon.” She chuckled as Ormr refused to let Sindri hold Dagrun for now. ‘Thank gods they’re not too upset by this surprise,’ she thought.

Heather glanced up at the sky, frowning slightly. “Where _are_ Death Dance and Windshear?” she asked.

“They’re nearby; don’t worry.” Thora gave her a reassuring smile. “Death Dance is probably just showing her where the best food can be found.”

“Oh, so I can expect to have a fat dragon after this?” she chuckled.

“Windshear’s not a Gronckle. She’ll be fine.”

 

By the time the rain rolled in, the dragons had arrived and Thora and Heather had unpacked their things in their rooms and were settling in. For Thora, it didn’t take much time. Even though she had been gone for nearly two years, she felt at home right away.

Heather, though, was still getting used to the sheer size of…well, _everything_. She was glad to find that her room had human-sized furniture, but it looked absolutely tiny in the huge space. The furniture in the rest of the house was absolutely _enormous_. It made sense, though: Ormr and Sindri were huge when they weren’t shapeshifted. She had anticipated them being tall, but…

There was a knock on her door and Thora poked her head in. “Knock-knock. Ya doin’ alright?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just—trying to get used to this place. You warned me that your brothers were big, but I didn’t expect them to be as tall as trees and their house to be the size of a small mountain.”

Laughing, Thora sat down on the bed. “Ah, you’ll feel better when Ulfr gets back. He’s the shortest o’ the three. Still a good five or six feet taller than me, but, well.” She shrugged before covering her mouth as she yawned.

She flopped down on the bed behind Thora. “From what you’ve told me about him, though, he’s the scary one. …Though, to be honest, Ormr and Sindri were terrifying when I first saw them.”

“Don’t worry. I was scared, too.” She allowed herself to lay down on the bed as well. “I was soakin’ wet an’ tired an’ scared. Death Dance looked _tiny_ compared t’ this place.” She tiredly rubbed her face before yawning. “It took me at least a week t’ get used t’ seein’ them. T’ seein’ everyone, honestly. After growin’ up surrounded by nothin’ but humans an’ dragons, it was…it was a big shock.”

“I can believe it. I’m still in shock and I had you telling me what to expect!” She let out a small laugh.

“When Ulfr gets back, he’ll probably be the one you’re goin’ t’ be most afraid o’ for a while.” Her tail lazily reached up and adjusted the pillow under her head. “He _looks_ intimidating. Lots o’ scars, missin’ a leg, _huge_ tusks…An’ he takes a while t’ warm up t’ people.”

Heather nodded in understanding. “I’ll try to steel myself over the next few days.” Bringing her legs onto the bed, she crossed her ankles. “So…when are we going to bring up Urd to your brothers?”

“Not until Ulfr’s back. Since he’s chief, he may have had dealings with her in the past. An’ if he hasn’t, then mum has.”

She somewhat frowned. “Are you sure we can wait that long?”

Opening an eye, Thora glanced over at her. “We’re goin’ t’ have t’, regardless. We need a solid plan in order t’ get Dagur back.”

“Charging in and causing chaos normally works for us, though.”

“When it involves _humans_.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Trolls _aren’t_ humans. Each kind o’ troll thinks an’ behaves differently an’ we don’t know what kind o’ troll Urd is.”

“How many types are there?”

“Four. Mountain, forest, sea, an’ swamp. Mountain trolls are the smallest, but the strongest. They also tend t’ be the ones ya hear about in stories…y’know, the man-eaters. Forest trolls are the best at magic, but the weakest in terms o’ strength. Sea trolls are the tallest an’ have no tails, but they do have webbed hands an’ feet. They’re known for their benevolence an’ medicinal knowledge.”

“So Ormr is living up to the sea troll stereotype?” Heather joked.

Thora chuckled. “Aye, it would see that way. T’ be fair, though, there aren’t many sea trolls left. They have the most contact with humans an’…well, their kindness can be their downfall.”

“They’re easily taken advantage of?”

She nodded. “Aye. Ormr doesn’t live up t’ _that_ part o’ the stereotype, though. Apparently, he gets that from mum…”

“What about swamp trolls? What’re they like?”

“T’ be honest, the only thing I know ‘bout them is that they’re the worst o’ the worst. They eat humans as well as most other creatures. They’re the strongest with shapeshiftin’. Most o’ the tales about witches an’ goblins an’ monsters in swamps an’ bogs? Aye, those were actually swamp trolls.”

Heather frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me neither. They only live extremely far inland, though, so we won’t have t’ worry about comin’ across one. I doubt any will be invited t’ the midsummer festival _because_ o’ how nasty they are.”

“Well, that’s good. The last thing we need is for one of us to be eaten by a swamp troll at a festival.”

Thora snorted. “Like I’d let that happen. Like my _brothers_ would let that happen. Trust me: Now that they know ya an’ know you’re my friend _and_ sister-in-law, they’re goin’ t’ treat ya like part o’ the family.”

At that, Heather’s eyes widened. “Um…Does that mean I’m going to be subject to Sindri’s bear-hugs?”

She grinned cheekily. “Maybe. Ya just best hope it’s not one o’ his _literal_ bear hugs.” She paused, her brow rising slightly as she heard a cry from the next room. “Ugh…Dagrun’s cryin’. Just when I got comfy.”

“Strumpabúð! Strumpabúð!” she heard Sindri yelp. “Stinkandi, stífla rass!”

“What is he saying?” Heather asked, her own brow rising as she propped herself up on her elbows. “He sounds scared. Is Dagrun hurt?”

She laughed. “No, no -Sindri’s just panickin’ because Dagrun’s got a dirty diaper.” Sitting up, she sighed, though still wore a smile. “Don’t think he’s ever had t’ change one before.”

“But…what about when you were a baby?”

Shrugging, she stood. “Couldn’t tell ya. From what they’ve told me, they were out at war when I was born an’ when they returned, I was weaned an’ mum was gettin’ ready t’ send me off. I don’t think they really had time t’ for any o’ that stuff.”

Sitting upright, Heather crossed her legs. “That’s…kind of sad.”

“Well, it was a dangerous time here on the mainland. Mum didn’t want me, a half-human _infant_ t’ be around that sort o’ stuff. An’ with good reason.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder, heading for the door. “She was killed shortly after she sent me away. So, I don’t really hold any ill will against her. She did what she deemed best.”

“That’s understandable, I guess.”

Thora smiled. “An’ hey, if she didn’t send me off, then I wouldn’t have met anyone on Berk. Or you. Or Dagur. I think we all know what kind o’ chaos the twins would unleash if I wasn’t there t’ rein them in sometimes.”

A look of terror overcame Heather’s face. “Dear gods, don’t say that. They may have burnt Berk down by now without you there!”

“Oh, that I doubt. Maybe _helped_ t’ burn it down, aye. But bein’ the ones t’ start the fire?” She snorted. “Get some rest. Dinner will be finished in about an hour. Hope you’re hungry; there _aren’t_ small portions here.” Before Heather had the chance to reply, Ormr called for her assistance. With a small wave, Thora left her alone in the large room.


	48. Chapter 48

Three days had passed and Heather had grown only _slightly_ used to being surrounded by enormous furniture and even more enormous trolls. On the fourth morning, she had managed to not panic upon waking up and seeing her small bed in such a large room. She did, however, become curious when she found her window shutters wide open.

They had been barred shut when she went to bed.

Continuing to lay still, she listened for anything out of the ordinary. Her brow rose; there was heavy breathing coming from the foot of her bed. She dared to turn her head only to find no one there.

“What the…” she murmured, eyes narrowing. Sitting upright, she crawled to the foot of her bed only to let out a quiet, startled curse. Her surprise quickly turned into relief, however, for it was Windshear who was breathing loudly. “How’d you get in here, girl?”

The dragon cracked open an eye, an almost mischievous look on her face as she glanced up at her rider. Lazily, she lifted the end of her tail before letting it flop back onto the floor.

Heather shook her head, grinning. “Of _course_ you used your tail,” she murmured. Her brows then furrowed. “But why didn’t I hear the bar fall when you lifted it?”

Windshear made no effort to move, leaving the puzzled human to crawl out of bed to go inspect the window. As she got closer, she saw the reason for Windshear’s stealth: After lifting the bar and opening the shutters, she had merely dropped the bar on the ground outside.

“I mustn’t be fully awake yet,” she mumbled to herself, feeling rather stupid for not thinking of such a simple answer. Shaking her head a second time, she went over and knelt on the floor beside her dragon. “Bet you Death is jealous of how small you are about right now,” she told her, scratching the underside of Windshear’s jaw.

A soft, almost purr-like sound left the dragon’s mouth. The tip of her tail started to flick back and forth the more Heather scratched and the purring sound grew louder.

“You’re so silly,” Heather smiled, finally giving her hands a rest. She blinked, glancing over her shoulder as someone knocked on her door. “Come in,” she called.

It didn’t surprise her when Thora poked her head in. “Glad t’ find ya awake,” she smiled. Despite the smile, she looked exhausted. “Ya slept in a bit, so ya missed breakfast. I saved ya some, though. It’s stayin’ warm by the hearth.”

“I…slept in?” Heather asked, confusion in her voice and on her face. “How late is it?” She stood up and started making her bed.

“Halfway t’ noon,” Thora chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s not like we have places t’ be or chores to do,” she teased. “I see Windshear snuck her way in.”

She smiled apologetically. “Yeah…I didn’t realize it until I woke up. She was _very_ sneaky.”

Thora cocked a brow, still smiling. “Well, she is _your_ dragon. Ya had t’ learn from _someone_.”

Snorting, Heather grabbed a pillow and threw it at Thora. She let out a half laugh, half shriek as Thora caught the pillow and threw it right back at her. Ducking, she narrowly avoided a well-aimed headshot.

“Nice try,” Thora laughed, “but I’ve been in far too many pillow fights t’ let one hit me anymore.” She used her tail to pull her hair over her shoulder. “Pillow fights an’ sneaky dragons aside, I’ve some news.”

“Good or bad?” Heather asked, retrieving the pillow from across the room.

“Good. Ulfr’s back.”

“So we can finally ask about the troll woman!”

At that, Thora made a face that was a mixture of uncertainty and guilt. “Er…I’d actually recommend waitin’ until supper at the earliest,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “He…didn’t take the news ‘bout Dagrun too well.”

She frowned. “He didn’t?”

“Don’t get me wrong! He adores the crap out o’ her, but it’s more or less her _daddy_ he’s upset about.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “How so? He doesn’t know Dagur, does he?”

“He knows _o’_ him. When I first came here four -or has it been five? Time has flown by- years ago, I was a few weeks late because Alvin the Treacherous kidnapped me…an’ then _Dagur_ held me captive for a few days after he supposedly killed Alvin.” Leaning against the wall, her tail wrapped itself around her leg. “O’ course, I told my brothers about all that when I got here. But it seems only Ulfr remembered the smaller details o’ the story.”

Heather cringed, a pitying look on her face. “Well…at least he doesn’t know _how_ you ended—” She fell silent as Thora’s eyes widened; the half-troll put a finger to her lips in a ‘shh’ motion.

Using her magic, she wrote in the air. ‘They don’t know about that. They will _kill_ Dagur if they find out.’

She nodded in understanding. “I’ll, uh, keep quiet on that,” she whispered.

Thora sighed, running her hand through her hair. “Good. I don’t want him killin’ my husband…not when I’m about t’ get him back.”

“At least Dagrun is cute enough to soften the blow of that news?” she offered, a hopeful smile on her face.

A small laugh left her mouth. “He’s refusin’ t’ put her down. He _adores_ children. One o’ the reasons why he’s got like, ten or more.”

Heather looked mildly disturbed. “Really?”

“Aye, though I’ve never met any o’ them. They live further inland, with their mother’s tribe.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Huh. Maybe I’ll get t’ meet them at the midsummer festival…” She shook her head. “Eh, never mind that for now. C’mon; let’s go get ya some food, eh?”

Nodding, Heather followed her out of the room. Windshear stayed at the foot of the bed, one eye open as she lazily watched the two women leave.

Stepping into the main room, Heather was greeted by the sight of a troll with blond hair and many, _many_ scars. He sat near the hearth, his battle-worn face making all sorts of silly faces as the baby in his hands squealed and kicked with delight. If he weren’t shapeshifted to be closer to human size, she was positive he would even more frightening than he did now.

“Thank the gods she adores her uncles,” Thora chuckled, moving to get Heather some breakfast. “I was actually fairly worried that she _wouldn’t_ like ya.”

“She knows we are blood,” Ulfr replied, his tail rising up and tickling Dagrun’s nose. Heather was startled by how deep and rumbly his voice was. “Family will not scare her.” He then looked up, letting Heather see that one of his eyes was clouded over thanks to one of his scars. “You must be Little Sister’s friend, Heather, yes?”

She nodded, smiling shyly at him. “I am. And you must be Ulfr. She’s told me quite a bit about you and the others.”

“Hope all was good talk.” He chuckled; she thought it sounded more like boulders falling down a mountain.

‘Damn. Thora wasn’t lying when she said he’s a mountain troll. He _sounds_ like a mountain,’ she thought. “Don’t worry, it was,” she told him. She blinked, looking down as a bowl of porridge was shoved into her hands. The remnants of Thora’s blue magic were fading away as her grip became firming on the bowl.

“You’ll want t’ eat that fairly soon,” Thora told her. “I forgot t’ mention that we’ve got fittings t’ go t’ today.”

Her brows furrowed. “Fittings?” she repeated. “What kind of _fittings_?”

“Not saddle fittings, that’s for sure,” she chuckled. “We’re goin’ t’ be fitted for festival outfits.”

Heather bit her lower lip, shrinking back slightly. “You mean _dresses_ , don’t you?”

“Not necessarily.” As a kettle the size of a large cauldron began to furiously billow steam, she grabbed a cloth and covered the handle before pulling it off the fire. “Ya can have trousers if ya like. Or, if ya rather, ya can have skirts an’ trousers. It’s up t’ ya, really.”

“Little Sister not have much choice in what she gets,” Ormr chuckled. “Little Sister stuck with troll clothes.”

Her brow rose; at the moment, everyone was wearing clothes that looked completely normal to her. “What’s the difference?” she questioned before shoving a spoonful of porridge in her mouth.

Pouring the hot water into Ormr’s mortar, she leaned back to avoid the steam. “Ya remember those clothes I slept in? The ragged skirt an’ shirt?”

“Yes?”

“ _Those_ were troll clothes. Granted, they were more for summer, but about the same amount o’ skin will be showin’.”

Heather gawked at her. “You’re…joking right?”

“Not joking,” Ormr assured her. “Trolls have no taboo about nudity like humans. And is hard to find big amounts of cloth for bigger trolls.”

“But make up for it with decorations!” Sindri added in. “Lots of decorations. Lots of gold, silver, copper…Oh, and skin decorations.”

“Tattoos,” Thora gently corrected. She glanced over at Heather who was taking another bite of porridge. “A proper troll is considered under-dressed if they’re not wearing at least twenty pounds o’ jewelry.”

Heather stared at her, the spoon hanging out of her mouth.

Smiling, Thora nodded. “I know, it sounds excessive, but...” She nodded towards Ulfr, who Heather now noticed wore massive amounts of jewelry. “It’s sort o’ a status symbol more than anythin’. The more important ya are, the more jewelry ya wear. Since Ulfr’s a chieftain, he wears more than Ulfr an’ Sindri, who, in turn, wear more than me since I’m only half troll.”

“That, and trolls like shiny things,” Ulfr added. “Stories of us hoarding gold like dragons? Are true in most cases.”

“I didn’t know dragons hoarded gold,” Heather murmured, a brow rising. “I know Smothering Smokebreaths like to hoard metal in general...”

Sindri chuckled. “Is not like dragons you know. Dragons inland - _big_ dragons- love treasure. Gold is favorite, but will take anything precious.”

She nodded in understanding. “No wonder I haven’t heard of them, then...”

“Not many big dragons left inland,” Ormr told her. “Many, many have been killed. Ones that still live are in Bludvist territory. Bludvist rules them with iron fist.” He shook his head, a grim look on his face. “Do not suggest going souther than Gaul. That where his land begins.”

“Further south,” Ulfr corrected. “And I agree. Once had to travel to the south to meet with different tribe.” He let out a heavy sigh, reluctantly passing Dagrun to her mother as she started to fuss. “Was not good. Humans were scared. Non-humans were terrified. And they had never seen Bludvist or his army -only heard of him.”

Throwing a blanket over her shoulder and chest, Thora sat down to feed Dagrun. “If he’s so strong, what keeps him from comin’ up here?” she asked with a frown. “There’re dragons up here -not many, but there are some. Wouldn’t he want them for his army?”

“He stays away because of Queen Ottalie,” he answered. “She is as ancient as the mountains and twice as strong in both magic and, well, strength.”

Heather glanced over at Thora. “She sounds like an intimidating woman.”

The three troll brothers laughed. “No need worry,” Sindri assured her. “Ottalie is powerful, yes, but is sweet as honey.” He then let out a somewhat dreamy sigh. “Is as pretty as a rose, too...”

“She welcomes friends with open arms,” Ormr added, thawking his younger brother to pull him out of the daydream. “If you are friend to our tribe, then are friend to her.”

She nodded, taking the last bite of her porridge. “That’s a relief, then. Is it going to be just trolls at this festival thing, by the way? Or are there going to be other beings, too?”

“So many different creatures will be there,” Ulfr chuckled. “It will be a bit disorienting at first, but will have no need to worry: Everyone is friendly. Have never had a bad experience at the festival.”

“That’s good. I mean, I’m still trying to get used to Enda Fjarðarins.” An awkward smile came to her lips. “I guess that’s what happens when you grow up on an isolated island…”

Thora gave her a reassuring smile. “If ya stick close t’ us, it’ll be less intimidatin’ for ya. An’ ya won’t have t’ worry about the trolls all bein’ in their actual heights. From what Ormr’s told me, everyone who can shapeshifts down so that they don’t accidentally hurt the smaller guests.”

“That’s good, because I’m sure Dagrun and I are going to be the smallest ones there!”

Sindri snorted, his brow rising. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I thought you said I was getting fitted for _covering_ clothes?”

“Those _are_ covering clothes you’re bein’ fitted for.”

“Then why isn’t she measuring my arms at all?”

Thora rolled her eyes, but smiled at Heather. “It’s _midsummer_. It’s goin’ t’ be a warm night an’ we’re goin’ t’ be around _bonfires_ most o’ the night. Trust me when I say you’ll be happy t’ not have sleeves.”

Heather frowned slightly. “And you promise you’re not lying to me to make me wear troll clothes? They look fine on you, but I’m not comfortable showing _that_ much skin…” She rubbed the back of her neck as the seamstress -the first human she had seen since arriving- measured down her spine.

“I’m not the twins,” she assured her. “I know what it’s like t’ have t’ wear uncomfortable clothin’. I wouldn’t do that t’ ya.”

She sighed. “Good.”

“Like I told ya earlier: These clothes are goin’ t’ be what _you_ want, just fancier. You’ll still be able t’ ride Windshear and wield that ax o’ yours.”

A small laugh left Heather’s mouth. “That’s reassuring. Especially considering…” She fell silent again as she and Thora exchanged knowing glances.

“Aye, I know.” She leaned back on her stool, watching as Heather was made to turn around. “How do ya think my brothers are handlin’ Dagrun?” she asked, changing the subject. Her brothers had eagerly offered to watch Dagrun while the two women were fitted for clothes.

At that, Heather let out a hearty laugh. “We’ll get back and Sindri will be panicking because of a poopy diaper. Ormr will be trying to calm him down and failing. Meanwhile, Ulfr will be cooing over Dagrun and making funny faces at her while he changes her.”

Thora snorted. “You’ve only been here a few days an’ ya already know them so well,” she teased.

“Well, once you’re used to them and their…well, _hugeness_ , it’s easy to get to know them.” She shrugged only to get lightly scolded in a different language by the seamstress. “Sorry!” She did her best to remain still for fear of being reprimanded again. “How many more measurements is she going to take?”

Thora spoke to the woman in her native language. “She’s just got t’ measure your inseam, then she’s done,” she translated as the seamstress replied.

“Inseam? What’s tha—Whoa, alright. _That’s_ an inseam.” Her cheeks turned bright red when the inside of her leg was measured. She half-glared at Thora, who was doing her best to hide her snickering behind her hand. “You’ll have to get this done, too!”

“Oh, I know,” she chuckled, “but I know what t’ expect.”

When the seamstress was finished, she motioned for Heather to hop off the stool. She went to sit by Thora, her cheeks still red.

“Whenever my mom—ah, my _adopted_ mom—made me clothes, she never had to take that sort of measurement,” she murmured.

“She probably used fabric that wasn’t nearly as expensive as what you’re gettin’ here, so a few mismeasurements were allowable.” Her tail pulled her hair over her shoulder. “Adela, though, is goin’ t’ use silks brought over from the far east as well as the softest o’ leathers from the Mediterranean an’ cotton from Egypt.”

Heather stared at her, mild horror on her face. “You’re _joking_.”

She shook her head. “Not at all. She has all sorts o’ clients along the coast an’ all of them are fairly rich. For a time, her best customer was a king from Daneland.”

“Daneland? Isn’t that where Beowulf lived?”

Thora shrugged, standing up when Adela beckoned her over. “I think so. T’ be honest, I never paid much attention t’ that epic.”

Heather cocked a brow. “Why? It’s like, the favorite of every Viking child since Beowulf lived.”

“Because when ya hear someone tellin’ it t’ their wee ones, only they’ve replaced the name ‘Grendel’ with _your_ name, ya develop a bit o’ a hatred for it.” She held out her arm as Adela stood on the stool previously occupied by Heather.

Heather gawked at her. “You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was.” She sighed. “I don’t remember exactly who it was, but I’m fairly certain it was Spitelout Jorgenson.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. He’s the biggest jerk on the whole of Berk.”

“And, _unlike_ his son, he _hasn’t_ gotten better with age.”

“What do you expect? He’s not wine. He’s more like…mutton stew that sat out too long.” She grinned as Thora cracked up, earning a scolding from the seamstress.

 

* * *

 

It was late at night. Ulfr sat in his room, reading over the various letters that had arrived while he was gone. Most of them were either boring, political nonsense or complains and suggestions from the townsfolk. A few letters, though, were able to make him smile; they were from his children.

A knock at his door broke his concentration. As he looked up, he watched the door open and Thora poke her head into his room.

“Ulfr? Are ya busy?”

He turned on his stool, giving her a tired smile. “I am never too busy for Little Sister.”

She returned the weary smile and stepped into the room, her tail closing the door behind her. “I was wantin’ t’ talk with ya.”

“About?” Dark, blood-red light extended out from his hand as he created an appropriately sized chair for her from the floorboards.

Sitting down, she rubbed the back of her neck and bit her tongue. “Well…first o’ all, I want t’ apologize t’ ya for not tellin’ ya about Dagrun sooner.” Her cheeks darkened. “I was going to, I swear it, but things kept gettin’ busier an’ busier on Berk. Next thing I know, I’ve got a wee lil’ girl…”

He nodded slowly. “Sometime, life can get in way like that. I do not much blame you. But, turned into pleasant surprise when I came home, eh?” A reassuring smile came to his scarred lips. “She is very adorable and is much like you. She is little, but strong. Will make a fine warrior someday.”

She chuckled. “Well, it’s definitely in her blood…though, I do hope she’d choose an occupation that was a little more… _safe_.”

“Will see when she’s older, eh?” He reached over with his tail, ruffling her hair. “But tell me, Little Sister, what of Dagrun’s father? Would think you would bring _him_ to festival, not sister-in-law.” He cocked his head curiously.

Thora let out a heavy sigh and pulled a knee to her chest. “That’s…the other thing I wanted t’ talk about,” she admitted. Glancing up, she saw that a frown had replaced Ulfr’s smile. “Until a week or two ago, I thought he was dead. It’s—” She paused, biting her tongue. “It’s a long story. But the short version is that he fell into the ocean after bein’ poisoned. I honestly don’t know how he managed to survive, but Heather found his armor at a slave trading post. The trader told her the armor’s previous armor was alive when he saw him.”

Ulfr still wore a frown, but he nodded in understanding. “Suppose she found where he was taken?”

“Aye.”

“And?”

“He was bought by troll woman. I think Heather said her name was ‘Urd’?”

Ulfr’s eyes widened and his skin paled. Shaking his head in disbelief, he mumbled something in his native tongue. Thora recognized it as a blessing used to counter curses.

He was _scared_.

Thora bit her tongue; she had never seen _Ulfr_ scared. “I take it she’s not a good person.”

“Not good at all.” Closing his eyes, he rubbed his face. “She is swamp troll,” he continued, voice shaking somewhat. “ _Queen_ of swamp trolls. She is a horrible, horrible being! She is ancient and powerful and rich. She commands all of the frozen wastes. Troll, jotun, man, elf, dwarf— _all_ follow her command. Saying her name is thought to bring bad luck.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Lovely. It’s not like I have any _other_ kind of luck,” she muttered, voice filled with sarcasm.

Ulfr shot her a look. “No. _No_. You are not going _near_ her, Little Sister. I forbid it.”

“She has my _husband_!” she argued. “I can’t just let him spend the rest o’ his days bein’ her slave!”

“And if she knew he was _your_ husband, she would have him killed on spot!” he snapped. “Above all other families, she _hates_ our family most, Little Sister. Our mother, especially.”

Her brows furrowed. “Why? What did Gre— _mom_ —do to her?”

Ulfr heaved a great sigh, resting his forehead in his palm. “Mother was everything she _wasn’t_. Queen Urd is…is our _aunt_ , Little Sister.”

Thora’s eyes widened in shock. “What?!”

He nodded. “Our mother was her little sister. _Centuries_ younger. Mother remembered the rise and fall of Rome. But Urd remembers the rise of _humans_.” He glanced up at Thora. “She is strong -both in magic and in…eh…what is word? Real? No. Of the body-”

“Physical?”

“Yes. Strong in both magic and in physical sense. But our mother stronger -so much stronger. Even worse, our mother _liked_ humans.”

Thora cocked a brow. “Humans weren’t well liked?”

“Still aren’t in some parts, but no. Humans were not liked except as meals. They breed fast and large, they take land the is supposed to belong to others, they enslave their own kind, and they _kill_ what is strange to them. Many humans do not take the time to _learn_ about other creatures. They are afraid and so, they want the creatures dead. And that not even touching on their strange, singular god and what he tells them to do.”

“Understandable,” she murmured. “But, mom helped t’ show that not _all_ humans were like that, right? Otherwise, she wouldn’t have founded Enda Fjarðarins.”

Ulfr opened his eyes, looking at her with confusion. “Mother did not _create_ Enda Fjarðarins,” he told her, “she helped it to grow into the city-state it is, but she did not create it. She and Urd were born here, when was nothing more than a fishing village. But after war between mother and Urd, it grew. Because of the loss, Urd fled to the north where she now rules.”

Thora nodded slowly in understanding. “So, basically, it’ll be far too dangerous for me an’ Heather t’ try an’ steal my husband back?”

“Would be just plain stupid,” he told her. “Urd lives in middle of a frozen swamp. Her fortress was crafted by dwarves and elves; _jötunns_ guard it. She has enchantments all over. The moment you so much as _breathed_ in her realm, she would know and she would _kill_ you.”

“What if I were t’ shapeshift myself?” she questioned, voice small.

He gave her a dry look, but she watched as it slowly changed into one of curiosity. “I…I do not know, honestly. Your magic is different. Is mixed with human magic. Not sure she would recognize it.” He then blinked and shook his head. “But no! _No!_ You are not going there.” He tiredly rubbed his face. “Do not press it further. My word is final.”

Thora let out a defeated sigh. “Alright,” she murmured, not meeting his gaze.

Uflr rubbed his face again. “Is late, Little Sister. You should probably get rest.”

She nodded, standing up. As she did so, her magic enveloped the chair and made it return to the floorboards. “Ya should get some rest, too. You’ve had a long day.” She managed a small smile. “An’ you’re goin’ t’ need all the energy ya can get if you’re goin’ t’ spend the whole day with Dagrun again.”

He smiled as well, nodded. “Very true. Though, she not a hard child to care for. Will change when she is older, am certain.”

She pouted. “If she turns into a wee lil’ demon tomorrow, I’m blamin’ ya.”

Ulfr grinned cheekily, but said nothing.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the feels in this chapter~!

“He really said you’re forbidden from trying to get Dagur back?”

“T’ be fair, even sayin’ her _name_ terrified him. An’ Ulfr isn’t easily scared.”

“But still! He forbade you from getting your _husband_!” Heather crossed her arms, wearing a scowl that Thora had seen many times before -only, she had seen it on Dagur’s face. “Did he at least offer to get him for you?”

She shook her head. “O’ course not! If this Urd manages t’ _terrify_ Ulfr, he’s not goin’ t’ want t’ mess with her.” Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck.

Heather still wore the scowl. “So, he’d rather Dagrun grow up without her father?”

“I’m positive that’s not what he wants,” she replied, voice dry. “It just means we have t’ go about this differently.” She opened her eyes as Dagrun let out a loud laugh; looking up, she saw her daughter lying in the grass just a few feet away, her chubby legs kicking. A butterfly was on her nose, its wings tickling her cheeks. Thora smiled, reaching over and gently tickling the bottom of Dagrun’s foot.

Heather blew a stray lock of hair from her face. She couldn’t help but crack a small smile as she watched Dagrun kick her feet harder. “How can we approach this differently, though? The only way I can see is by going straight in and demanding him back.”

Thora glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “Ulfr said that Urd would be able t’ sense when another troll came onto her lands due t’ their magic. But he _also_ said that she may not recognize my magic, since it’s a mix o’ human _and_ troll.”

Heather perked slightly. “Well, there you go! We’ll be able to get to her fortress, demand she give us Dagur back, and then leave! Simple!”

Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh. ‘She is definitely Dagur’s sister…’ she thought. “ _Not_ simple,” she said aloud. “There’s another problem.”

She let out a groan, flopping back against the grass.

“Urd is my aunt. An’ she _hates_ my brothers an’ mother.” She smiled; Dagrun was rocking herself from side to side until she managed to roll onto her stomach. “My mother was her little sister and was apparently better than her at everythin’.”

“…I can see why she’d be upset, but family is family -she shouldn’t hate you all!”

“She’s a _swamp troll_ ,” Thora reminded her.

Turning her head, Heather looked over only to see the wide, green eyes and toothless smile of Dagrun. She reached over, gently stroking the child’s cheek.

“I can shapeshift myself so I don’t look like my mother,” Thora continued. “I wouldn’t be able t’ change myself _too_ much, since I’m not terribly good at it, but I could change my hair color an’ some parts o’ my face.”

Lifting her head, Heather looked up at Thora. “I didn’t know you can shapeshift.”

“Not well, but I can.” Changing positions, she moved to lay on her side beside Dagrun. “Ulfr tried t’ teach me, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. I kept changin’ the image in my mind.”

“And that means…?”

Plucking a dandelion, she started to use it to tickle her daughter’s face. “When you’re shapeshiftin’, ya need t’ have a firm mental image o’ what ya want the end result t’ be. I always had the image, but certain details would change mid-shift an’ the whole thing would fail.”

“Do you think you’d be able to manage, then? We don’t know how long we’re going to be in that place. We wouldn’t want your disguise to fail when you’re in the middle of talking to Urd or something similar.”

“If it’s small things, I should be alright. Ack! No, Dagrun!” She giggled as the child tried to eat a bee that had crawled onto her fist, but she used her magic to carefully pull the bee away. “We don’t eat bumblebees, sweetie. They make us honey an’ help crops grow.”

Dagrun looked up at her, her lower lip wobbling as she got ready to cry. Before she got the chance, though, Heather rolled over and started tickling her. Taken by surprise, her eyes widened and she started to laugh. Heather grinned; Dagrun’s little tail was flailing around like that of an excited puppy.

“An’ it’s Auntie Heather t’ the rescue again,” Thora chuckled.

“Auntie tickles are best tickles,” Heather smiled. “At least, until she finds something else to distract her.”

Snorting, Thora rolled her eyes. “Too true.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was early -so early, the sun had yet to rise. A low-hanging mist brought in from the ocean obscured the ground. Walking would have been difficult, but Thora remembered the lay of the land well enough to not trip.

Having left a sleeping Dagrun in Heather’s care, she had crept out of the house and was now making her way through the forest. She wanted to find a spot far away enough that her brothers wouldn’t hear what she was doing, yet she wanted to be close enough should something happen.

‘Regardless, they won’t think I’m doing anything suspicious, even if I do tell them I was talking with Freyr,’ she thought, hopping over a fallen log.

She paused for a moment, looking up at the enormous trees, their furthest boughs hidden from her and her lantern. A sigh left her mouth; she remembered how, just a few short years ago, she was able to climb to the very top of any tree she wanted. She remembered scaling the rocky cliffs of Gothi’s peak to get to the top faster. Even moving around on Death Dance was more difficult these days.

Biting her tongue, she looked down at her armless shoulder. ‘…Maybe Sindri can teach Dagrun how to climb trees?’ she thought with a sad smile.

She shook her head and continued on. Less than a quarter mile away, however, she stopped again.

Having gone uphill a bit, she found herself standing on the edge of a small clearing. The mist didn’t cover the ground here, letting her see the two skeletons on the ground. The rusting remains of matching armor still lingered over the bones. She could tell that wildlife had gotten ahold of the skeletons at some point; one was missing a leg and the other, its arms. But as she held her lantern up, wanting a better look at the armor, she let out a gasp of horror.

The armor the skeletons wore was Roman and emblazoned with the sigil of the veiðimenn.

She turned, still holding the lantern aloft. Across from her was the tree she had been tied to, the ropes rotting, but still laying around the tree’s roots. She dared to move closer; as she did so, the lantern light caught something partially covered by moss.

Kneeling down, she picked up the object with her magic, using it to also push away the moss. It was a dagger -long and thin and rusted. Her hand unconsciously rose to her throat where she felt the three scars left by the knife. Her fingers then slipped further down, following thin, leather cord until she grasped the warm metal of a too-small ring.

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, resting her head against the tree trunk. “This is where it all went downhill,” she whispered, feeling tears drip from her eyes. “So much pain an’ hurt happened here…Why did I have t’ find this place again?” Clenching her jaw shut, she took a long, shaky breath.

Her hand gripped the ring harder, hard enough that it was causing a sharp pain in her palm. She didn’t care, though. The pain kept her rooted in the present, though her mind kept trying to bring her back into the past.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up straight and tilted her head back. Her shoulders shook from the force of suppressed sobs, but she kept her mouth clenched shut. She did her best to focus on her breathing and a circle of blue light appeared around her. Starting to feel calmer, she finally let go of the ring.

She held her hand out, her eyes glowing as she watched blood drip from the puncture in her palm. It fell onto the magic, turning it from blue to gold. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the circle disappeared. She closed her eyes, her body feeling as light as a feather.

Opening her eyes again, she found herself staring up at a star-filled sky. The stars were different, though. These weren’t the constellations of Midgard.

“I was wondering when I would see you again.”

Sitting up, she was in time to see Freyr sliding from the back of his golden boar, Gullinbursti. “I’ve been busy,” she said, her tone apologetic. She accepted his hand as he offered to help her up.

“And crying.” He frowned, reaching out and cupping her face in his hand. “These are tears of heartbreak. Has something happened to Dagrun?”

A small laugh left her mouth. “No, no. She’s perfectly fine, I promise. I just—I did the ritual in the place where I got these.” She tilted her head back somewhat, showing the scars.

His frown remained. “What were you doing in that cursed place? Nothing good can come of being there.”

“I didn’t mean t’ end up there,” she explained. “I was walkin’ through the woods, wantin’ t’ find a _nice_ place t’ do the ritual. But…” She let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. “I found that place instead.”

He nodded in understanding, pulling back so he could lead Gullinbursti closer to them. “That is understandable,” he sighed. “I am sorry you had to come across it again, however.” Setting his hands on Thora’s waist, he easily lifted her, setting her on the boar’s back. He hopped up after, waiting until Thora was comfortable before flicking the reins.

She bit her tongue, glancing down at her lap. “I’m sorry I came across it, too.”

“You still love him.”

Thora nodded, though she knew it wasn’t a question. She didn’t resist when Freyr gently brought her to rest against his chest.

“You are allowed to love people, even when they’re gone,” he told her, stroking the back of her head. “You know as well as I that love does not stop because a person has died. For the living, it may fade into a distant memory or it may linger on until they, too pass, whether they’ve moved on with life or not.”

She nodded once more, managing a small smile. “Because love doesn’t know life an’ it doesn’t know death. It knows only itself.”

“Exactly.” He looked down at her, feeling a bit relieved when he saw the smile on her lips. “But, that is not why you are here, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” She bit her tongue; she had almost forgotten about Dagur. “I’m here because I need help.”

“Help that I am afraid I can’t give you.”

Thora frowned. “Ya can’t?”

Freyr shook his head. “No. It would be interfering too much with the mortal realm,” he explained, “though I am taking you to a person who _can_ help you.”

She cocked her head. “Who would that be?”

A mischievous smile came to his lips. “You will soon see.”

“I’m not sure if I should be eager or cautious now,” she replied, a brow rising.

He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “You have no need to worry. This person knows _exactly_ what you must do in order to get your loves back.”

She wanted to question him about his wording, but something caught her attention: The golden grain that had surrounded them on all sides was now tall, green grass and, in the distance, she could see the silhouette of a building.

“…Freyr…Are we where I think we are?”

“And where is it you think we are?”

She looked up at him. “…Fólkvangr?”

He nodded, a mischievous smile on his lips.

Thora’s heart started racing. Fólkvangr was one of two halls where those who died a noble death were brought to. Unlike Valhalla, though, it was lorded over by Freya.

“You—your sister doesn’t hate me anymore, does she?” she asked, voice small and frightened.

Freyr shook his head. “You needn’t worry,” he assured her. “She has forgiven you and it is by her help that you were able to conceive Dagrun.”

Thora’s eyes widened and she felt her skin pale slightly.

“Though she now wishes that she had waited for a happier time, but not even she can see what the Norns and wyrd have planned.”

She slowly nodded. “I’ll have t’ thank her soon…”

“When your adventure has come to an end, then you can do so.” He gently pulled on the reins, bringing Gullinbursti to a stop. “Here is where I must leave you. Continue along this path until you take your first step into the light of the hall.” He made sure she slid off safely, though he made sure to keep hold of her hand. “Go no further than that, though! To do so would be forfeiting your life.”

“I’ll be sure t’ remember.”

“I know you will.” He smiled and kissed the back of her hand. “I wish you luck in your quest.”

“Thank you.” She stayed in the spot for a few minutes, watching as Freyr rode back the way they had come. Closing her eyes, she let out a small sigh. Her heart was still racing, though she hid her excitement well.

Then, turning, she started to follow the road.

She didn’t like how alone she felt. It didn’t help that the grass was so tall, she felt _small_ walking alongside it.

‘I feel like I’m a child again,’ she thought, wrapping her tail around herself. ‘Everything’s bigger than me and no one wants to be near me. Thank gods Dagrun won’t have to go through that when she’s older…’

A warm wind blew past, bringing with it the warm scents of spiced cider, baked fruits, and roasted meats. Her stomach grumbled, yet she didn’t _feel_ hungry. She wondered if it was because this wasn’t her _real_ body; maybe she would feel hungry once she woke up?

As she got closer to the hall, she could see someone standing outside. Her heart started to race once again; was it Cæna? He was the only person she could think of who would be in Fólkvangr -unless he was in Valhalla.

‘Unless someone died in the last week,’ she thought, frowning. ‘Oh gods, did Gothi die?! Or did one of the twins get themselves killed!?’

She started to calm down when she realized the figure was much too tall to be either Cæna, Gothi, or one of the twins. In fact, the figure was larger than anyone on Berk -they were _troll_ sized.

Finally taking one step into the light as she had been instructed, her eyes widened. The figure was an enormous troll woman -taller than even Ormr- with wild, grey hair and bright, green eyes. As she looked down at Thora, it was with love and sorrow in her eyes.

“… _Mom_?” she gaped.

“It is good to see you, my littlest one.” Greta shapeshifted herself down to a more reasonable height and stepped forward. She cupped Thora’s face in her hands, gently tilting her head back to get a better look. “But look at you. You are not so little anymore, are you? I had hoped your father would do well in raising you and I see that he has. You’ve grown into a fine woman.”

Thora’s mouth moved, though no words left it. As she stared up at her mother, she could feel tears beginning to pour from her eyes. She had never met the woman; why was she suddenly so emotional? Was it because of all the stories she had heard?

As if reading her mind, Greta let out a quiet laugh; it was deep and made Thora think of Ulfr. “You mind may not remember me, but you heart remembers,” she said. “And it was I who raised you for the first two years of your life.” She used her thumbs to wipe away some of Thora’s tears.

Raising her hand, she gripped her mother’s hand. “I never thought I’d get to meet ya without dyin’,” she choked out.

“If wyrd had been kinder to you, then you wouldn’t have. The dead are not usually permitted to speak with the living, but the Æsir are known for bending the rules occasionally.”

“I’ll have t’ thank Freyr later,” she chuckled, trying to wipe away more of her tears. Despite her efforts, they continued to flow.

“ _And_ Freyja,” Greta gently reminded her.

“An’ Freyja.”

Smiling, Greta kissed the top of her head. “I wish we could stay and talk forever, my littlest one, but you have a task that needs doing,” she sighed. “A dangerous task that I wish didn’t fall onto your shoulders.”

Thora bit her tongue. “Freyr said ya knew what I had t’ do.”

She nodded. “Yes. Have you been told of my connection to Urd…?”

“Aye. You’re her little sister.”

“Then you also know of her hatred for me.” A heavy sigh left her mouth and she closed her eyes. “No matter what you do, Urd will try to kill you. But there is a way you can defeat her. I had meant to do it while I was alive -I had _everything_ prepared- but…I was slain.”

Thora bit her tongue, but nodded solemnly. “What must I do?”

Greta rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders before pressing her forehead against hers. Visions flashed before Thora’s eyes; she was _watching_ what Greta had done to prepare. As the visions neared their end, she saw something unexpected: Herself. Only, she was an infant and she was being cradled in Greta’s palm. A mixture of worry and guilt was on her mother’s features as she spoke to the child.

It was at that point Greta pulled back. There was a sad smile on her lips as she looked down at Thora. “You were so small,” she whispered. “I was afraid to send you away. I feared the journey would kill you. But you _would_ have died should I have kept you here.”

Reaching up, Thora clasped her mother’s hand. “I know, mum. Sindri, Ormr, an’ Ulfr made sure t’ tell me everything. About how war was comin’ an’ how hard ya cried after sendin’ me off.” She closed her eyes as Greta kissed her forehead.

“Make a sleeping potion,” she whispered. “Make it as strong as possible. You will need to give it to your brothers two nights after the midsummer festival. When you and your friend leave, take _only_ your dragon. She will manage intimidate Urd with her appearance and strength.”

She nodded in understanding. “Got it. But… _how_ am I t’ kill her? I saw how t’ win her over an’ make her drop her guard somewhat, but not how t’ actually _kill_ her.”

Taking a few steps back, Greta took on her original height once more. As she held out her hand, an absolutely _enormous_ spear appeared. Thora was positive it had been made from a single, ancient tree: It was at least five feet taller than her mother and had to have been a foot thick.

“There is _no way_ I can wield that,” she said aloud, her eyes wide as she stared at the massive weapon.

Greta laughed; full-sized, it sounded like thunder. She reached up and grabbed the spearhead, breaking it from the shaft of the spear. Then, shrinking down once again, she let the shaft fall to the ground and held out the spearhead to Thora.

Such was its size, she was forced to use both her hand and her tail in order to hold the blade. It was as long as her forearm and, at its base, was as wide as her hand. As she slowly turned it over, she could see that it was made of a single piece of obsidian. Magic had to have been involved; otherwise, it would have shattered long ago.

“You will use this,” Greta told her. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed, but it is imbued with magic. How you use it to kill Urd, I will leave that up to you. I know you are a capable warrior as well as a healer. But do make sure to keep it hidden from your brothers. They cannot know what you have planned; they will find ways to stop you if they were to know.”

“This will come with me when I wake up from the trance?”

“Yes.” She stepped closer and once more cupped Thora’s face in her hands. “I’m afraid our time is almost up, my littlest one.” Thora’s eyes widened and she felt a knot form in her throat. “I wish I could come with you, but I must remain here until Ragnarök.”

“But—But it’s only been a few minutes! Can’t I talk with ya a _little_ longer?” she choked out, not caring about the tears streaming down her cheeks.

A sorrowful smile came to her lips. “I’m afraid not.” She kissed the top of Thora’s head. “Tell your brothers I’m so proud of the trolls they’ve become,” she whispered, “and that I’m always watching over you all. And I’m proud of you, too, my littlest one. You have endured so much pain, but you still fight. I’m so proud to call you my daughter.”

Thora let out a sob as Greta started backing away. “No! Please!” She tried reaching for her, but the world was beginning to fade around her. She cried out again, but she knew it was useless.

There was only so much time the Æsir could buy them before the Norns took notice.

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll can blame FlyingWerecats for this chapter~

“Please tell me I don’t have to put my hands in that stuff.”

“Well, if you want to get the hide out for stretching…you’re going to have to.”

“Can’t I use your smithing tongs to grab it or something? Because that is utterly _disgusting_.”

“There is _no way_ in the nine realms I’m letting you use _my_ smithing tongs to grab that.” Cæna’s brow rose somewhat in amusement.

Though nearly a year and a half had passed since he and Dagur met, the two of them had become extremely close. It hadn’t always been like that, however: When they first learned who the other was and his connection to Thora, they had been jealous of one another. As time wore on and Dagur became healthy enough to start working, though, they quickly discovered that they worked well together.

Despite this, there were still moments when Dagur managed to take him by surprise -both pleasantly and unpleasantly.

“It’s really not too bad once you get past the smell,” Cæna chuckled, waving a fly from his face.

Dagur stared down into the barrel of water, liquified animal brains, and caribou hides. Not only did the mixture look nauseating, but it also _smelled_ nauseating. Few things in the world made him squeamish, but when something looked like it had the consistency of vomit and the stench of a latrine in summer, however, even his iron stomach churned.

He looked up at Cæna, his brow rising. “And what if I _refuse_ to do this?”

He shrugged. “The Lady will probably use me as a way to punish you.”

Sticking his tongue out in disgust, Dagur stepped forward. He _really_ didn’t want Cæna hurt because of his actions. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into the barrel and grabbed one of the hides. Not only was the liquid thick like stew, but it was freezing cold.  “Oh gods, this is _revolting!”_ He yanked his hand out of the mixture, bringing the hide with it.

The speed at which he pulled the hide out sent cold, liquid brain splattering over the both of them.

“ _Thanks_.” Cæna wiped a glob of brain matter from his face as he looked down at Dagur with a brow raised. “And here I thought you _liked_ me.”

Dagur shrank back, smiling innocently. “I got the hide out…?” He then shuddered, lifting all but his index finger and thumb from the skin. “It doesn’t feel _right_ …”

A playfully handsome grin returned to his face. “The big, bad leader of the Berserkers…brought down by a tanned hide.” Taking the hide, he held it above the barrel and attached it to some sort of twisting device. “If ever we get out of here and back to Thora, I’m going to tell her _all_ about this.” He picked up a metal bar, intending to shove it through the loop formed by the hide.

Dagur’s eyes widened. “You most certainly will _not_!” he cried, snatching the metal bar from his hands. He shoved it through the loop and started to twist it round and round, squeezing the liquid from the hide and back into the barrel. “And even if you did, I’m sure she’d agree with me that this is an absolutely _foul_ process.”

Laughing, Cæna reached into the barrel, grabbing another hide. “Thora’s done this before. With _out_ her magic, mind you.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. Ulfr taught her. And she, in turn, taught me.” He held the skin out at arm’s length, his nose scrunched up as he started to wring it out. “She wanted to make me a new smithing apron, but wanted to learn the process from the very beginning.” Untwisting the hide, he started to wring it in a different direction. “Then again, she’s done things _far_ more disgustin’ than this.”

“…Do I _want_ to know?”

He shrugged again, grinning cheekily; Dagur felt his cheeks grow warm. “I don’t know; do you want to keep your breakfast in your stomach?”

Cringing, he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh, it’s not _too_ bad! Just involves birthin’ a few babies is all.”

“Yes, because the process of giving birth and helping a person give birth is one of the most _pleasant_ of events.” Sticking his tongue out, he blew a raspberry at him. “No thank you. I’ve seen it happen enough times with animals. I _don’t_ need to know how it happens with humans and human-like beings.”

Cæna shrugged, still wearing a grin. “Oh, come now: It’s the miracle of life! Sure, it’s a _little_ gross, but what’s so bad about having to help a dwarf dame birth a half-dwarf, half-satyr?” He cracked up at the face Dagur gave him; it was clear he was less than enthused by the conversation.

“Ugh. She _told_ me about that one. While I was _eating!_ And she was so _casual_ about it, too!”

“To be fair, she _is_ a healer. That’s the sort of thing she’s supposed to do.” He flicked a bit of brain matter from his arm back into the barrel. “Birthin’ babies, shoving a person’s entrails back into them, givin’ out medicine…No wonder Freya was outraged when Thora wanted to give up bein’ a Völva: She would have made a damned good one.”

Dagur frowned slightly. “Freya never told _me_ she was ‘outraged’,” he murmured. He then let out a small curse, realizing that by now, he had to stand on his tiptoes in order to keep wringing the hide. “Uh…Cæna? Can I get a little help?”

“Shall I find you a box…?”

“ _Very_ funny,” he said, voice dry as Cæna took hold of the bar. In exchange, he took the other hide and started to squeeze it by hand. “In all seriousness, though, who figured out that _brains_ can make hide supple?”

“Not just the brains,” he grunted, using some effort as the hide got tighter. “They help, but it’s also the hand stretching. And it was discovered by the Sami people.”

His brow rose. “Sami people…?”

“The native inhabitants of this land. Well, the native _human_ inhabitants.” He slowly began to untwist the hide. “They herd caribou all along the continent -at least, that’s what I’ve been told.” Once it was fully unwound, he removed the hide from the device. “This one’s ready for stretching.”

“This one…isn’t just yet.”

Cæna chuckled. “Then here. You take this one and I’ll finish that one for you.” Exchanging hides, he once more hung the skin from the device.

Dagur looked at the almost-dry hide he held. “What do I do with this one?”

“Start pulling it around the edges.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was doing it right. “Yeah, like that.”

Grunting, he gritted his teeth; the skin was tougher than he had expected. “How many more hides do we have to do after this?”

“Three barrels worth. Then we have to prep new hides to go _into_ the barrels.”

A groan left Dagur’s mouth and he slouched forward somewhat. “Well…at least we’re not on chamber-pot duty,” he sighed.

Cæna snorted. “Too true! Thank the gods you got stuck with the blacksmith as your warden, huh?” Once more, he unwound the hide only to toss it over a nearby wall.

“Yeah…though, why _are_ you doing the hides? I thought you had a set of pots to repair?” He looked up as Cæna came over and grabbed the opposite end of his hide.

“I do, but I’m supposed to spend the day showing you how to do the hides. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to my smithy. Pull as hard as you can.” He let out a small grunt as they started pulling and tugging on the skin, turning it every few pulls. “I guess the Lady thinks I don’t need help in the forge. Shame, really. The company was nice. So was the help.” Though he strained somewhat with the effort of tugging, he still managed one of his goofy-but-handsome smiles.

Dagur’s cheeks burned again, though he had long ago grown used to it. It was hard _not_ to get flustered when Cæna smiled like that. “You’d think after me being here for this long, she wouldn’t suddenly change me over to a new job like this.”

Cæna let out a sarcastic laugh. “She does as she pleases. And I hope you’re paying good attention to what I’m showing you: She _ate_ the last tanner because she thought he was doing a poor job.”

His eyes widened as they stopped pulling. “Wh-what!?”

Cæna nodded, about to continue talking when he suddenly froze up. His eyes widened in fear as he stared past Dagur. Turning, Dagur saw the reason for his fear: An enormous female troll had entered the area: Urd. She was covered in jewelry and her long, greenish-grey hair was tied into many small braids and adorned with precious gems.

Mentally cursing, Dagur turned back around. “C’mon,” he whispered to Cæna. “We got to keep working.”

Cæna stiffly nodded, forcing himself to look down at the hide as he and Dagur went back to stretching it. He couldn’t help but glance up every few seconds, keeping a watch on Urd as she wandered her way through the courtyard, checking on various things. Soon, though, they were forced to stop pulling on the hide.

“It’s been stretched enough,” Cæna told him, voice quiet. “I’ll show you what to do next.”

As they walked towards a post at the far end of the yard, Dagur made sure to keep himself between Cæna and Urd. It had become obvious to him quite early on that she had a fondness for causing him pain even if he had done nothing wrong. But she did it less often now that Dagur acted as a sort of blockade. She never touched Dagur -she only ever yelled at him.

In fact, _no one_ would touch him. No one _could_ touch him aside from Cæna and the other slaves. At first, no one knew why. For some weeks, Urd tried every possible spell, potion, and poison she could on him, but they all failed. Eventually, though, she was able to determine the reason: The amber necklace Thora had made him.

The moment she laid eyes on it, she had let out a deafening howl and started cursing up a storm - _literally_. So great was her anger, she didn’t stop her tantrum for three whole days; the lands around her fortress were left flooded. No one knew _why_ she was so upset by it, but Dagur was glad he could use it as a way to keep Cæna -and the other slaves- safe from her wrath at times.

“Alright. You wrap the hide around the pole like this,” Cæna instructed, taking the hide and making sure the largest surface area possible was on the pole. Now closer, Dagur saw that it had been carved into a triangle; one of the points was pressed into the middle of the hide. “Then, holding the edges like _this_ , you start pulled it back and forth.” He started to show Dagur the correct movements. “When you get goin’ real good, then you can lean back slightly to help pull it tighter.”

“What does this part do? Seems kind of…useless to me.”

“It helps to further soften it,” he explained, stopping so he could hand the ends to him. “Stretching can only do so much, so we use friction t’ do the rest.” He peeked over his shoulder; Urd was checking the contents of one of the barrels. “You’ll know you’re done when you stop and it acts like regular cloth.”

Dagur grunted as he pulled the hide. “And when I’m done with this?”

“I’ll show you once you’ve got two hides done.” He hated to do so, but he left Dagur pulling on the hide at the post. He went over to the barrel furthest from Urd, pulling out a third hide to wring out.

He was nearly done wringing it out when, from directly behind him, he heard Urd speak. “Three barrels need more-” Her voice had badly startled him, making him let go of the bar. She let out a wicked cackle as the bar spun around, smacking Cæna across the face with enough force to knock him to the ground. “Thought you were keeping eye on me, hmm?” she laughed.

Dagur, seeing what had happened, ran over. He helped Cæna sit up, worry filling his face. Blood was pouring from Cæna’s mouth and nose, though he could tell nothing but skin had been broken. He glared up at Urd, who was still laughing.

“I don’t know what you find so funny!” he snapped. “A blow like that could have easily killed him!” He tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, bringing it up enough that he could use it to stop the bleeding from Cæna’s lip. “You alright?” he quietly asked him.

Cæna nodded, though his eyes were clenched shut in pain.

Urd’s laughter abruptly stopped and she glared down at the two humans. “ _Exactly_ ,” she hissed. “You humans think yourselves strong when, in fact, you’re so pathetically _fragile_. Little Cæna here was trying _so hard_ to keep an eye on me, but he was also trying _so hard_ to not get in trouble that he has no one to blame for his pain but himself!”

“ _You_ were the one who startled him!” he barked. “It’s _your_ fault he got hurt, you sick, twisted—” He was suddenly silenced as Cæna smacked his hand over his mouth.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he grunted. Then, glancing up at Urd, he somewhat held Dagur in front of him. “You—you were saying about the barrels, Lady Urd?”

Her lips pulled back in a sneer, showing off foot-long tusks and yellowed teeth. “The last three need more brains,” she replied, voice cold and harsh. She then glared at Dagur. “If you weren’t protected by that damned necklace, I’d use _your_ brains. As things are, though: Cæna go into town and get five or six brains. Calf and lamb, preferably, but whatever the butcher has available. If he has none, tell him to find some or I’ll use _his_.”

“Y-yes, Lady Urd,” he stammered, getting to his feet. He wobbled slightly, but was able to keep his balance. Before either Urd or Dagur could stop him, he left the area.

Dagur narrowed his eyes at the troll woman as he rose to his feet. “He doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment!” he growled. “ _None_ of us do!” He barely flinched when a wall of black light surrounded him; it quickly disappeared, nullified by his necklace. He was used to her failed attempts at hurting him by now.

“You are _humans_ ,” she hissed, “and _humans_ deserve every bit of pain and punishment they get for taking Midgard away from those who were here first. You and Cæna, above all others, deserve the most painful of deaths. But Cæna has proven himself _somewhat_ useful, and so I’ve spared him. _You_ , however-”

“What makes _us_ more deserving of your hatred than anyone else?” he demanded. “What makes us so special?” He didn’t even blink as Urd lunged forward, her large face just as hairsbreadth away from his. She could get no closer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forced to both feel the hotness and smell the wretchedness of her breath.

 “What makes you so special?!” She let out a dark, sarcastic laugh. “The two of you are ‘special’ because you _reek_ with the scent of my wretched niece!  Just like her mother, that one:  _One_ lover can’t satisfy her, so she finds herself two!” Again, she cackled. “Who knows? She may have even more now that the two of you are out of her life!”

“Thora would _never_ -”

Urd snorted. “Your precious _Thora_ is part human and humans are an unfaithful species. I have no doubts that she’s already allowed another to share her bed just as you and Cæna have done.” She smirked as Dagur’s face turned bright red. Then, shaking her head, she started to walk off. “I suggest you get back to work,” she told him, malice in her voice. “Wouldn’t want your precious Cæna to get hurt because _you_ were slacking, now would we?”

Dagur growled, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching his teeth. ‘Just you wait and see, you hag,’ he thought, storming over to the barrel of hides. ‘It’ll be because of Thora that the two of us will somehow get out of here…’

 

* * *

 

 

“You _must_ have misheard her or something.”

“I _didn’t_.”

“Are you _certain_? She has a thick accent-”

“Cæna, I _know_ what I heard!” Dagur ran his hands through his hair, pacing in front of Cæna, who sat on his bed with a bowl of mutton stew. “Urd outright said that Thora is her niece and that we smell like her.” He finally stopped pacing, instead plopping down beside Cæna. “And that’s why she picks on us more than the other slaves…”

Sighing, Cæna rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just hard to imagine that someone like Thora could be related t’ someone like _Urd_.” He looked down at his stew, frowning slightly. Not only was it just barely lukewarm, but it was the same stew they had been given for _three days_. It would make for better pig slop than food for a human. “But at least we now know _why_ she torments us so much.”

Dagur nodded, staring up at the ceiling. “She doesn’t seem to think very highly of Thora’s mom…or _any_ of Thora’s family, to be honest.”

“Of course she doesn’t. She’s a _swamp_ troll. They’re the most foulest, most vain trolls o’ the four breeds.” Leaning over, he set the bowl of stew on the floor; just looking at it made him lose what little appetite he had. “And, judging by the size of her nose and her ears, she’s _ancient_.”

“Wait…you can tell a troll’s age by their ears and nose?”

“Yeah.” He laid back, his eyes closing as he rested his head on Dagur’s chest. “Thora never told you? The older a troll gets, the larger their nose and ears get.”

Unconsciously, Dagur started toying with his hair. “Do you think it applies to Thora, too? I mean, she’s only _half_ troll…Maybe one will grow and the other won’t?”

“Even if it does, we’d be long dead before any growth became noticeable.”

Dagur said nothing in return. Instead, he let out a small sigh and tucked his arm under his head. Though he knew it was inevitable, he didn’t like the thought of Thora outliving him and Cæna by centuries.

But did she know that the two of them were still alive? Or at least him; there was no reason at all for her to believe Cæna was alive. He still couldn’t quite remember what had happened that led to him ending up a slave, but he knew however it had happened had to have left her thinking him dead.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here and see her again?” he asked after some minutes.

“ _You_ can leave whenever you want thanks to that necklace.” Cæna let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I’ll get out here any time soon, though.”

Frowning, he opened an eye and looked down at him. “What do you mean, I can leave whenever I want? I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you _can_. No one can harm you while you’re here. Why you _haven’t_ walked out of here and gone back to Thora already is beyond me.” He let out a small yelp as Dagur suddenly sat up, forcing him to sit up as well.

“Cæna, look at me.” Dagur set his hands on his shoulders when he turned. “I’m not leaving this place without you. I _can’t_ leave this place without you. You hear me?”

“You’re Thora’s _husband_ ,” he replied, voice quiet as he looked away. “You _should_ leave this place without me so you can be with her. I honestly don’t understand why you don’t, Dagur. She’s already lost me. It’s not fair for her to lose you, too.”

A quiet sigh left his mouth. “Do you know how many times I woke up to find her a sobbing mess because she had a dream about you? Or how often I see her holding the ring that was supposed to be her engagement ring from you?”

He moved his hands, now holding Cæna’s face and gently forcing him to look at him. “She still loves you. Gods, I daresay she still loves you more than she’ll _ever_ love me. What do you think she’d do if I returned to her and told her that you were still alive and that you made me leave without you?”

Cæna felt his cheeks growing a bit warm as he glanced down at his lap. “She’d be upset,” he murmured. He could feel his eyes starting to sting.

“No. She’d be _furious_ and you know it.” He used his thumbs to gently wipe away the first of his tears. “And you _damn well_ know she’s not the only reason I haven’t left without you.”

A small smile came to his lips as he finally brought himself to look Dagur in the eye. “She’s just the main reason.”

He shook his head. “No. Both reasons are equally important. Just like how both of you are equally important to me.” Moving one hand from his face, he wrapped his arm around Cæna’s waist, bringing him flush against his body before kissing him. “Don’t you think for a _second_ I love Thora more than I love you,” he whispered when they parted, “because I love you both the same amount: A Hel of lot.”

Cæna rested his forehead against Dagur’s, his eyes closed and the smile still on his lips. “Good. Because I love the two of _you_ a Hel of a lot, too.”


	51. Chapter 51

“Are you sure about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Heather shrugged, bouncing Dagrun on her knee as she watched Thora stir the potion. “I don’t know…I know you’re a witch and all, but I somehow can’t bring myself to believe that you were told what to do by your dead mom.”

“T’ be fair, Freyr was also there,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have believed it, either, if he hadn’t been there.” Turning back to the cauldron before her, she used her magic to lift a jar of fine, white powder. She carefully tipped about two tablespoons worth into the cauldron before stirring its contents once more. “How’s the wee one doin’?”

She chuckled, looking down at the smiling child. “Happy as ever. She’s gumming away on the toy boar Ulfr made her.” Tilting her head, she looked back up at Thora. “Do you think she’ll start teething soon?”

“I don’t ‘think’ -I _know_.” She visibly winced. “Her wee tusks will be comin’ in soon. Ya can’t see them just yet, but if ya run your finger along her gums, ya can feel them. They’re none too pleasant when she’s feedin’.”

Heather’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, cringing. “The more you tell me about being a mother, the less I want to be one…”

Thora chuckled. “Trust me, once I learned the horrors o’ pregnancy an’ childbirth, I was thankful I was infertile. At least, I was at the time.” Taking the spoon with her tail, she started going through the contents of a small chest. “But…I got Dagrun out o’ it. I suppose it wasn’t _too_ horrible.”

She gave her a bland look. “I’d agree with you more if you hadn’t almost _died_ ,” she told her, voice bland. “But, I will agree that the end product _was_ worth it.”

Dagrun grunted happily as she looked up at her aunt. Her chin, hands, and toy were absolutely coated with drool. She held up the toy, a please exclamation leaving her mouth.

“Oh, yes, you’re quite the little drool monster right now,” Heather giggled. “You’ve got that thing thoroughly coated! That’s so… _gross_ , to be honest.”

Thora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Be glad it’s _drool_ she’s coated in.”

“I heard about her diaper explosion this morning. I think she left Sindri scarred for life.”

She dismissively waved her hand. “He’ll recover. It’s his fault, really. He’s the one who thought it’d be a bright idea t’ feed her mashed greens an’ mashed apples _together_.”

She blinked. “Is _that_ what caused it? I didn’t know she was able to eat—well, eat anything that wasn’t breastmilk just yet.”

“Human children should wait a few more months, but she’s got troll in her, so she’ll start eatin’ normal food sooner. She’ll still breastfeed for a while yet, though.”

Nodding in understanding, she did her best to try and wipe away some of Dagrun’s drool. “Makes sense.” She and Dagrun both jumped as there was a flash of light from the cauldron. A plume of silvery smoke rose into the air, worrying Heather. “Is everything alright…?”

“It’s supposed t’ do that,” Thora assured her. “Means it’s done.”

Her brows furrowed. “What kind of sleeping potion _explodes_ when finished?” Scooping up Dagrun, she stood and went over to the cauldron to see what the final result looked like.

“An extremely potent one that would knock a Boneknapper out for a week.” She wore a small grin as she started ladling the potion into a flask. “In all honesty, though, it always does that. It’s just what happens when it gets imbued with magic.”

A curse left her mouth as Dagrun let out a squeal and threw her wooden boar into the cauldron. “Dagrun!” Her tone was gentle, but scolding. As her magic lifted the toy from the potion, she lightly shook her finger at her daughter. “Ya _don’t_ throw toys in mommy’s potions,” she told the child, though she knew it would be of little use.

Dagrun wouldn’t be able to understand sentences for a while yet.

Heather chuckled. “Looks like someone’s not getting her toy back until it dries.”

“Eh, it’s a simple fix. Just have t’ soak it in some water for a bit t’ purge it of the potion. Then she can have it back.” Unhooking something from her belt, she handed it to her daughter; Heather saw that it was a simple, wooden spoon. Dagrun’s eyes widened as she took the spoon and she started grunting, flailing the spoon about happily.

“Really? Just water?”

“Aye. It’s just a sleeping potion.” She let out a small laugh. “If it were a medicinal potion or a medicinal mixture, then I’d have to soak it in wine or mead or whatever counteracts the main ingredient.” She finished filling the flask with the potion. “But there isn’t really anythin’ to counteract sleeping potions -at least _this_ one.”

Heather nodded slowly, her head tilted in interest. “Why’s that?”

“Because this is one of the sleeping potions that’s meant t’ knock _anything_ an’ _anyone_ out.” With only a couple spoonfuls of potion left, she simply dumped it on the ground. “This is the one I use when I can’t sleep. Just nearly thrice as potent.” She shoved the stopper into the flask while her magic extinguished the fire and lifted the cauldron from the hook.

Glancing around, Heather made sure Thora’s brothers weren’t in sight. “Is it alright for them to know it’s that strong?” she whispered.

She gave her a knowing look. “I can dilute it with water,” she replied, voice normal volume. “This flask will last me two years at _least_.”

“Understandable.” She somewhat pouted as Thora took Dagrun from her arms. “Aw, no more auntie cuddles.”

“That’s because it’s this little lady’s lunchtime,” Thora chuckled. “An’ then it’ll be her naptime. I’ll be awhile, so I’m afraid you’ll have t’ amuse yourself.”

“That’s fine. I wanted to go check on Windshear anyway.” She reached over and gently poked Dagrun’s cheek. “You go have a good meal and nap. You deserve it after working up all that drool!”

Dagrun let out a loud, high-pitched happy squeal, making Thora wince.

“Dear gods, child…ya almost made my ears bleed,” she murmured, starting to walk off.

Heather quietly laughed, shaking her head as she turned away from them. She crossed the yard, making for the dragon roosts. Death Dance was nowhere to be seen; Windshear, however, was in plain sight, preening herself. She looked up as her rider approached, a soft, cooing sound leaving her throat.

“Hey, girl,” she murmured, reaching over and stroking her neck. “It’s been a while -do you want to go for a small fly?”

At that, Windshear perked, her eyes widening. An excited purring left her throat and she turned, making it easier for Heather to climb on. Laughing, she rolled her eyes and did just that.

“Glad to see you’re still willing to haul me around after getting so spoiled by Thora’s brothers,” she teased, pulling her scarf up around her mouth.

A curse left her mouth as Windshear shot into the air, forcing her to lurch forward and grip her saddle. “Whoa, girl! Calm down!” she laughed, having to clench her eyes shut against the rushing air.

After a few seconds had passed, Windshear leveled herself. Daring to open an eye, Heather found that they were already high enough to be surrounded by clouds. Opening her other eye, she leaned over slightly; the land below looked tiny from up there.

‘Wouldn’t it be nice if the world was actually this small for a little bit?’ she thought, squeezing Windshear’s sides with her legs as the Razorwhip started to do loop-de-loops. ‘Then it’d take no time to get to Finnmark and get Dagur back…or to find our dad…’

Letting out a sigh, she continued to hold onto Windshear with her thighs, but let go with her hands. As she flew upside down, Heather let her upper half fall limp and just hang in the sky. Noticing this, Windshear made a concerned sound and righted herself.

“I’m fine, girl,” she assured her, smiling. “I’m just…thinking is all.”

Windshear huffed, knowing there was more to it than that.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright: I’m also being impatient. I just—I just want my brother back. And I want to find our dad. I want to have an actual family again. Thora and Dagrun are good and all, but…” Closing her eyes, she let out another sigh. “Thora doesn’t really know what it’s like, having to search for your family _twice._ Or what it’s like, having no one around to help you.”

Snorting in agreement, Windshear started to descend. She didn’t go too far, however -just far enough to allow them a better view of the ground.

“It doesn’t help that I’m not entirely sure I believe that she actually spoke with the gods and her dead mother.” She allowed herself to flop backwards, her arms dangling over Windshear’s sides. “I know her magic is real -I’ve _seen_ that. But speaking with _gods_? Speaking with the _dead_? It sounds like a fever dream to me.”

Groaning, she rubbed her face in frustration. “But what if it’s _not_ some sort of dream? Dagur once told me he’s spoken to Freya on occasion. The gods have no reason to speak with us mortals, though. The only reason they’d want to talk to us is because they’re Odin and Freya taking us to Valhalla or Fólkvangr…our only use to them is to be their army come Ragnarök.”

Windshear turned her head, looking at her rider. She crooned, worried about her.

Heather rubbed her flank. “Don’t worry, girl. I promise I’m fine. Like I said, I’m thinking. You know how I get when I start to think.” She chuckled, sitting upright again. “Hey: How ‘bout we go to that cove we found a few days ago? The one with all the fish and the sharks you like to eat?”

The Razorwhip’s eyes lit up and she clacked her jaws excitedly. Heather quickly latched onto the saddle -a good thing, too, because Windshear suddenly bolted forward, hurrying in the direction of the cove.

 

~*~*~

 

“Ten gold.”

“ _Thirteen_ gold.”

“Ten gold and five silver.”

“This came all the way from Constantinople! There is no way I’m accepting less than _thirteen_ -”

“Make it eleven gold and I’ll throw in some free medicine for that rasp of yours.”

The merchant narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked down at the smaller troll. “… _What_ rasp?”

Thora cocked her brow, smirking ever so slightly. “The slight rasp you’ve got right now. Let me guess: You’re also feeling a bit tight in the chest and you’ve been having an occasional coughing fit every few hours that leads to you nearly throwing up thanks to the phlegm.”

Her eyes remained narrowed. “You could tell all that just by standing there?”

She shrugged. “Ormr taught me well,” she said, voice innocent. Truth be told, she had seen the merchant hacking up a lung earlier in the day. “So, what say you? Eleven gold and some free medicine for that tin of saffron.”

“How bad will the medicine taste?”

“If you like sour things, then it’ll be good. If you prefer sweet, then you’re out of luck.”

The merchant pondered for a moment longer before letting out a sigh of defeat. “Fine. Eleven gold and some medicine.” Holding out her hand, she shook Thora’s as a sign of agreement. “When can I expect the med—” She blinked, watching as Thora opened the satchel at her side and, with help from her magic, began to mix together various ingredients on the spot.

“There you go,” she chirped, handing over the freshly-concocted pouch of medicine as well as eleven gold coins. “Use just a pinch of this in a mug of hot wine. Let it steep about five minutes, then sip until gone. Do this thrice a day and you should feel better by the end of the week.” She tucked away her things.

The merchant lightly shook her head, chuckling as she picked up a copper tin. Thora cocked her brow, watching as she closed the tin up.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing much -just that I wasn’t expecting to sell some herbs and get herbs back in return,” she answered. “But what you gave me has more uses than what’s in this tin here.” She handed it over. “At least, to my knowledge, it has more uses.”

Thora grinned, taking the tin and sliding it into her bag. “It has a _lot_ of uses, especially in medicine,” she smiled. “And the copper tin is useful as well.”

The merchant smiled. “Ah, that’s right -copper’s good for magic, isn’t it? Nearly forgot about that.” She then frowned, turning away slightly as she started to cough into the crook of her arm.

Thora gave her a pitying look. “Perhaps you should go brew yourself some of the medicine? That cough sounds really thick and the warm wine will help loosen it up.”

Nodding, the merchant continued to cough, though she was able to get out a few words. “Good idea…”

As she walked out of the building, Thora heard the merchant step through a doorway and call for her assistant to take over. A small sigh left her mouth; she had surprised herself with how well she remembered the native language. She thought she would have forgotten far more words than she had.

‘I got the saffron and ginger,’ she thought, walking down the street, ‘now I need to get the cinnamon. I should be good to go after that.” Reaching into her bag, she felt her coin purse. It was still somewhat heavy with coins, though she wondered if it would be enough to get cinnamon. ‘If I can’t get the bark, then I can at least afford it powdered. But will powdered be enough…? It usually has other powders mixed into it in order to increase its volume while maintaining the price…’

She winced slightly and, reaching up, shifted the strap of her satchel. It did little to help; her shoulder still ached -whether from the weight of the bag or from the odd way she position she had to lay in earlier to get Dagrun to sleep, she didn’t know.

‘Maybe I’ll have Ormr rub my neck later…’

Crossing the market, she entered a different building, this one being _much_ larger than the first. The moment she stepped in, she was assaulted by all sorts of warm, spicy scents. She had to stand still for a few seconds as the smells made her head swim. It soon passed, however, and she started to walk around the room, searching for the cinnamon.

“Lady Thora! I did not expect to see you today!”

She turned, smiling when she saw the familiar half-goat, half-human form of Aphrodisios. “Surprise,” she joked, kneeling down to give him a hug. “How have ya been?”

“Very well!” he chirped, giving her a tight squeeze. “And yourself? I’ve heard from Kelda that you have a child now!”

“I do,” she smiled. “I’m afraid she’s not with me at the moment, though -she had t’ take her afternoon nap.” She was grateful that Aphrodisios spoke her language.

“Understandable,” he chuckled. “Don’t want her to become a little grumpy puss like her Uncle Ulfr if he doesn’t get _his_ nap.”

She snorted. “Ya have no idea how right ya are,” she chuckled. She looked around at the shelves. “Ya don’t happen t’ have any cinnamon in stock, would ya?”

“Cinnamon? Hm.” He paused, a thoughtful expression coming to his face as he scratched his chin. “I think I’ve got a _small_ amount of it, but that’s one of the harder spices to procure.”

Nodding in understanding, she followed him as he headed towards a door. Behind it, she knew, his most precious herbs and spices were kept. She very nearly hit her head on the top of the doorframe, forgetting that Aphrodisios’ store was one of the few buildings in Enda Fjarðarins built for human height. As she ducked under, she felt her cheeks turn a bit pink out of embarrassment.

“Now let’s see…” He pulled open a cabinet drawer; Thora saw that the cabinet was made almost entirely of drawers. “Are you looking for the bark or powdered?”

“Either works, but bark is preferable.”

“Hm. I’ve got a _bit_ of the bark left,” he said, reaching into the drawer. When he brought his hand back out, Thora’s eyes widened.

“ _That’s_ a bit of bark?” she murmured, taking the three-foot long roll of dried bark from him. “This will last a person _years_!” She carefully looked it over, searching for any imperfections or hints of rot. She knew she wouldn’t find any, however -Aphrodisios was very particular with his wares and, with something as precious as cinnamon, she knew he personally inspected every shipment.

“Considering that it’s so hard to get and so expensive,” he chuckled, taking the bark back as she handed it to him, “I would imagine it’s used rather sparingly. That, and there are actually three rolls left. This is just the largest.”

She cocked her head. “An’…just _how_ much does it cost?”

He blew out a long breath, thinking over the price. “A solid roll like this would cost at _least_ twenty-five gold,” he answered. “Cut into smaller sections, probably fifteen. The powdered stuff costs a fraction of that at just five gold per cup.” He watched as Thora pulled out her coin purse. Using her tail to hold the bag, she dumped the coins into her palms, quickly counting the amount.

She then thrust her hand forward. “One an’ a part rolls, please,” she told him.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Really?” he gaped.

She nodded. “Aye. If ya think cinnamon is hard t’ get on the mainland, then ya wouldn’t believe how hard it is t’ get when ya live out in the middle o’ the ocean. I want this stuff t’ last me a _long_ time.” It was a lie -she had no intention of using it herself. But the words left her mouth as smoothly as the truth.

Aphrodisios nodded in understanding. “Well, when you put it that way, I can see why you’d want to stock up on the good stuff,” he chuckled. Reaching into the drawer again, he pulled out the large roll of bark along with a second, slightly smaller one. “Let me go saw off your part and I’ll meet you up front again, alright?”

“Alright. Don’t cut yourself, lest I demand a refund,” she teased.

“Very funny,” he said before blowing a raspberry at her.


	52. Chapter 52

Sindri tilted his head, watching as Thora tried to organize her belongings. “Why do you need so much spices?”

“Stockin’ up for when I return t’ Berk.” It was a lie, but a believable one.

“Hm. Is many expensive spices. Not ones Berk gets often?” He picked up one of her tins, looking it over. It felt extremely light -almost as if it were empty- but he could hear something rustling around inside.

“No. Trader Johann can only sail so far these days, after all.” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she reached over and plucked the copper tin from Sindri’s hands. “It’ll be nice t’ have some o’ these in stock again.” She set it in the center of a strip of blood-red linen before setting another, smaller, copper tin atop it. Then, on either side, she laid the pieces of cinnamon.

“Would imagine so. Is he well?” he asked, watching her carefully wrap the cinnamon and tins up in the linen so that it looked like a single object.

She let out a small sigh, leaning back. “T’ be honest? I’m not entirely sure.” A bit of guilt filled her stomach. “I haven’t seen him for quite a while. Da’, though -dad’s seen him fairly recently. From what he’s said, Johann’s doin’ well. I think he mentioned somethin’ about retiring?”

He nodded in understanding. “Johann and father are in relationship, yes? Remember you saying something about that.”

“…I don’t know much ‘bout that either.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I know they were _once_ in a relationship…that, er…ended because o’ me…” Her cheeks darkened and she glanced down at the bundle of herbs and silk. “But, from what I’ve been hearin’, they’ve gone back t’ flirtin’ and whatnot? So they _may_ be back together.”

He chuckled. “Humans are funny sometimes,” he said. “Have such short lives, yet are willing to waste part of life being angry at person they love…”

“T’ be fair, da’ _did_ sleep with a woman _and_ had a child with her while he was courtin’ Johann.”

“Yes, but he drunk on troll wine. _And_ thought he bed male, _not_ female.”

She cocked a brow. “Bein’ drunk doesn’t excuse it,” she told him, voice bland. “And how do ya know he thought mom was a male?”

“Because _I_ had been one flirting with him and trying to bed him,” he chirped. “But mother dragged him off first.”

Thora stared at him, mild horror filling her face. “You—you’re _jokin’_ , right?”

He tilted his head, confused. “No? Why would joke about this? Is not nearly funny enough situation.”

She buried her face in her palm. “Ya just told me that _you_ were the reason my da’ cheated on Trader Johann _on top of_ tellin’ me that _you_ had wanted t’ bed my _father_.”

Sindri still looked confused. “…Yes? Not see what would be joke worthy, Little Sister. Father was great warrior! And very handsome when younger. So was his friend, but…eh. Friend was too…too…” He said something in his native language that Thora knew to loosely translate to ‘Not into men’.

Sighing, she slowly shook her head, her face still hidden in her palm. “Never mind. I always forget that trolls have different etiquette when it comes t’ courtin’.”

At that, he pouted. “Not much different. Am sure mother wouldn’t have bedded him if knew father was in relationship. _I_ wouldn’t have bedded him if I knew.”

Thora peeked from between her fingers at him. “… _Did_ ya bed him?”

“No,” he answered, honestly. “Like said, mother got him first.” He shrugged. “Kind of good thing, too. Ended up having to help Ulfr because he drink too much.”

“I…I think that’s enough I need t’ hear about that night,” she murmured, her tone betraying her exasperation. Knowing Sindri was about to open his mouth and continue talking, she reached over with a tendril of match, covering his mouth. “For the love o’ the Æsir, Vanir, an’ my sanity, _please_ , let’s talk about somethin’ else.”

 

* * *

 

 

Shielding her eyes, Heather looked up at the sun. “Is the sun _ever_ going to set?” she asked. “It’s got to be nearly midnight!”

“Will _mostly_ set soon,” Ormr replied, glancing over his shoulder to look at her. “This far north, sun does not set for long during summer. During winter, sun not _rise_ for long.”

She cocked her brow. “You’re joking.”

“No. Is all true.” He leaned over, peering over the side of Death Dance to make sure they were still on the right path. “Will get darker once we are in the forest,” he assured her. “ _Much_ darker.”

Her brow still raised, she looked up at Thora. “And _why_ doesn’t the sun set?”

Thora shrugged. “Probably has somethin’ t’ do with the tilt of the earth an’ how the top o’ it is tilted more towards the sun durin’ summer,” she replied, doing her best to keep a straight face.

Heather snorted. “Good one.”

“Can’t take the credit. Ruffnut came up with that one.” She smiled.

“Those two really like to come up with outlandish ideas, don’t they?”

“I don’t know…I think some o’ the stuff they come up with is pretty intriguing and makes more sense than some o’ the stuff our elders tell us.”

From the front of Death Dance, Ulfr spoke up. “Sometimes, elders are wrong and the outlandish right. Elders told _you_ dragons were unsafe and bloodthirsty. Now look.” He motioned at Death Dance. “Turns out, some are like giant—no, _gargantuan_ —puppies.”

Death Dance clacked her jaws happily, knowing he was talking about her.

“True,” Thora chuckled, “though, t’ be fair, no dragons are _safe_. As sweet as she is, Deathie can be _incredibly_ dangerous.”

“Eh. Harmless until proven otherwise.” He patted the side of Death’s neck.

Rolling her eyes with a chuckle, Thora crawled forward to what looked like a large lump of blankets. Underneath it, however, she knew Sindri was snuggled up with Dagrun. Whether both were sleeping or not, she intended to find out. She untucked a bit of the blanket, lifting it _just_ enough to allow her to peek under.

Sindri glanced up at her, his tail rising to his lips in a ‘shh’ motion. Thora could see why: Dagrun was fast asleep in her uncle’s arms. It was hard for Thora to keep herself quiet, though. With every exhale, a tiny bubble of snot grew from the child’s nose. Before she could burst out laughing, she tucked the blanket back under Sindri’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Ormr asked, brows furrowed as he saw Thora struggling to not laugh.

“Dagrun’s got a wee snot bubble,” she giggled.

Heather clapped a hand over her mouth, barely able to keep herself from bursting out laughing. “Are you serious?”

“I am! I’d show ya, but I don’t want t’ wake her.”

Ormr and Ulfr looked at one another, their brows raised in confusion. Ormr shrugged; shortly after, Ulfr shrugged and shook his head. Neither understood why the women considered a bubble of _snot_ to be adorable.

Seeing their confusion, Thora merely chuckled. “Ya had t’ see it t’ understand,” she told them.

“If insist,” Ormr replied, brow still raised. Leaning over once again, he looked down at the land. “Ah, time to land,” he said, seeing a vast, ancient forest quickly approaching. In its heart was what looked to be a single, lonely hill.

Using her tail, Thora grabbed the reigns and lightly tugged on them. The Boneknapper shifted her wings and began to descend. She was careful to not go too steeply; she didn’t want to send her riders flying off her back, after all.

Heather crawled her way to Death’s shoulders, peering over the edge. “That’s the forest?” she questioned, brows furrowing.

“Mhm,” Ormr replied, shielding his eyes as he tried to get a better look at the hill.

“It doesn’t _look_ like a magical forest…” she murmured. The brothers had assured her and Thora that the forest would be like no other on Midgard. To her, though, it looked like every other evergreen forest she had seen.

“From here? No. But when are closer…” There was a playful grin on his lips. It almost startled Heather; of the three, Ormr was the least expressive of the brothers. She had seen him smile once in a while, but they had only been small half-smiles.

As someone set their hand on her shoulder, she nearly jumped. Looking back, she saw Thora. “If ya want, ya can hop on Windshear now,” she told her, using her head to motion back at the Razorwhip curled up near Death’s haunches. “I’m fairly certain she’s still poutin’ because we made her rest.”

Heather also glanced back, her brow raised and a small grin on her lips. “Oh, she is. But there was _no_ way I was going to let her fly for nearly an entire day without a rest.” She patted one of Death’s vertebrae. “Death Dance here is built for long flights; Windshear? Not so much. She’s made for speed and stealth.”

Snorting indignantly, Windshear part-way stood up and, turning around, sat back down so that her backside was facing the non-dragons.

Thora cocked her brow, looking down at Heather. “Aye, she’s _definitely_ still pouting.”

 

Within an hour, Heather came to realize _why_ Ormr had been wearing a playful grin: The forest was _massive_. Even when they were at their full heights, Thora’s brothers looked absolutely _tiny_ compared to even the roots of the trees. As they passed by the first trees, a shiver ran down her spine; she felt like she didn’t belong here.

Thora, too, felt something as they stepped into the forest. Instead of feeling unwelcomed, however, she felt an overwhelming sense of magic. Everything around her was laden with it -so much so that she felt lightheaded and nearly stumbled as it gripped at her, wanting her to use it.

Sindri’s tail snaked around her shoulders, helping her to stay upright. “Will grow used to the feeling soon,” he assured her. “Can be bit much when first visit.”

Her brow rose slightly. “Just a wee _bit_ ,” she murmured.

Heather looked at her, confused. “What’s he talking about?”

“The magic,” she answered. “I’ve never felt so much magic before. It’s…it’s a bit dizzying, t’ be honest.” She tiredly rubbed her face. “It probably feels different t’ ya, though.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I feel like I’m not welcomed here.”

“It’s because you are human,” Ulfr called back. He was already some twenty yards ahead of them, his blood-red magic flowing from his fingers and into the surrounding area. “Not many humans are welcomed here. But you are with us. You _are_ welcomed.”

“Do—Do I _want_ to know why humans aren’t welcomed?” She glanced up at Thora.

“The history between humans an’ non-humans is a bloody one,” Thora answered, “with the non-humans _not_ being the victors.”

She frowned. “Understandable.”

Thora gave her an apologetic look. “But, like Ulfr said, you’re with _us_. No one will think badly o’ ya if you’re with us.”

“Just because your mom was Greta?”

She shrugged. “Not _just_ because our mum was Greta. Ulfr’s done many great things in his life -he’s fought in _an’_ won many wars. Ormr’s one of the greatest healers in Midgard. Sindri—”

Ormr and Ulfr cut her off. “Sindri _beds_ people,” they said in unison, both their voices dull and unimpressed.

Sindri pouted. “Excuse!? I am one who makes peace!” he protested, puffing his chest out proudly. “Ulfr may _fight_ wars, but _I_ am one who _ends_ them!”

“Have nearly _started_ war or two because slept with a husband or a wife…” Ormr grumbled, making little effort to conceal his voice.

Thora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Alright, alright ya three. No more arguin’.” Shifting Dagrun’s wrap somewhat, she looked up to see her brothers all glaring at one another. “Oh, now you’re just actin’ like a bunch o’ _children_. Look at ya! Even your wee niece is better behaved than ya right now!” She then frowned, realizing that, by shifting Dagrun, she had released a rather foul stench from the child. “Oh gods, that _reeks_ , child…”

Dagrun merely grunted, squirming around in her wrap. Heather chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. Despite Ulfr’s words, she didn’t feel entirely reassured that she would be welcomed at the festival. She had no choice but to believe them, however, especially since it meant getting her brother back.

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the two dragons looking around cautiously. ‘They can feel the oppressiveness, too,’ she thought, frowning ever so slightly. ‘I hope no one tries to hurt them…or me. Windshear would _kill_ someone if they tried anything.’ She looked over at Thora who was kneeling on the side of the road. Ormr was kneeling beside her, helping her change Dagrun’s diaper. ‘What would they do if someone tried to insult me? Or tried to hurt me? Would they stand up for me…?’

She jumped, her eyes widening in shock as a large hand clapped over her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Sindri looking down at her, concern filling his usually-cheerful face. “Are alright?” he asked, worry filling his voice as well.

“Fine,” she replied. “Just…feeling a bit off is all. It’ll be a while before I’m used to this place.”

He nodded in understanding. “Places like this can be unfriendly at times,” he told her. “Can be…eh, ruthless? Not sure if that is right word. But places like this made to keep strangers out. You are with us, so it knows you are not stranger, but it does not _know_ you yet. Only knows are human and that humans are _usually_ not welcomed.”

“So…what you’re saying is that it’s going to take some time for the forest to not see me as a threat?”

“Hm. Not so much threat as _possible_ threat.” Tilting his head back, he looked up - _way_ up- to the canopy above. “Should take no longer than few hours to learn,” he told her. “Until then, though, will feel off. May even have dark thoughts -but they not _your_ thoughts.”

“What he’s tryin’ t’ say,” Thora called over, “is that the forest is going t’ be searchin’ your mind for any signs that you’re an enemy. Because o’ that, ya may think things that ya normally wouldn’t think. It’ll be uncomfortable, but it’s nothin’ t’ worry about.”

She shuddered. “While I understand the necessity of it, I don’t like the thought of something searching my mind,” she murmured. “Let alone something I can’t _see_ searching my mind…”

Sindri patted her shoulder once again. “Warding magic is strange,” he said. “Be glad is not more—more, eh…” He said something in his native tongue.

“Intrusive,” Ulfr and Thora chorused.

“Thank. Be glad is not more intrusive. Have been through spells that get very…eh… _personal_ at times.” He scrunched his nose up slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Those _not_ fun.”

Heather cringed at the thought. “I wouldn’t imagine them to be…”


	53. 53

It took nearly a day and a half of walking to reach the mountain in the heart of the forest. Ormr and Heather chose to ride on the dragons while Ulfr, Sindri, and Thora walked alongside them. Confused by their decision because of how much it slowed them down, Heather had asked why.

“Because Sindri an’ I are forest trolls,” Thora had explained, “and it would feel wrong t’ be ridin’ through a forest.”

She didn’t _quite_ understand what Thora had meant, but accepted her explanation regardless. As for Ulfr, it was more a matter of pride than heritage that made him walk. Because of his fake leg, he didn’t want to appear weak should they come across other tribe leaders. Not that they would think such a thing, Ormr had said, because he could easily rip any one of them in half should the need arise.

Heather found herself _almost_ wanting to see such a display take place.

 

When they, at last, reached the foot of the mountain, Heather couldn’t believe her eyes. Before them were a pair of enormous ash trees, their branches intertwining to form a massive archway. Around the base of the trees, dozens upon dozens of tents had been erected and all sorts of creatures -humanoid and not- were milling about.

As their group came closer, some called out in a friendly fashion and waved. Others stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, in wonder at the two dragons. She almost smirked, but resisted the temptation.

“Do you know any of these people?” she asked Thora.

“Not a one,” she chuckled. “This is my first time bein’ here.” She looked down at Dagrun, who was now curled up in a sling, and cocked her brow. The child was babbling away as she played with a wooden dragon. “Havin’ fun there, love?” she chuckled.

Looking around, Heather spotted all sorts of creatures. Some she recognized thanks to her time spent in Enda Fjarðarins, but most were foreign to her eyes. The strangest beings she saw, however, looked to be ordinary humans.

She lightly nudged Thora. “I thought there weren’t going to be any humans?”

Thora glanced over at the group. “Oh. Those aren’t humans. Well, they _are_ , but they _aren’t_. They're ulfhéðinn.”

Heather cocked her brow. “Which are…?”

She unconsciously grabbed at her necklaces. “Translated, it means somethin’ like ‘One in wolf-skin’,” she began. “Ulfhéðinn are a kind o’ shapeshifter. Ya know the old tales about berserkers who could turn into animals if they wore the animal’s skin and went into a blood-frenzy?”

“Yeah. Dagur _longed_ to be able to do that.”

Thora closed her eyes for a second, letting out a small, exasperated sigh. “ _O’ course_ he would,” she mumbled. “ _Anyway_ , ulfhéðinn are kind o’ like that, but they don’t need the blood-frenzy or the animal skins. They’re _born_ able to change into an animal. As far as I know, they can only turn into wolves and bears.”

“Interesting…Can they do it on command or is it sort of like a curse where it only happens at inconvenient times?”

At that, Thora snorted. “Now _that_ I don’t know,” she chuckled. “You’d have t’ ask them. I’ve only ever seen them from afar.”

She nodded in understanding. “So…why are we passing through the gates instead of setting up camp like everyone else?”

“We are not commoners,” Ulfr answered. “We get to stay _inside_ the queen’s halls.”

“Unless would like to stay out,” Sindri teased. “Can ask ulfhéðinn about abilities.”

Heather’s cheeks turned bright red. “Very funny,” she replied, voice laden with sarcasm. “I’ll stay with you lot, thank you very much.”

Giggling, Thora rolled her eyes. “Glad t’ see you’re _finally_ comfortable around my brothers.”

“Hard not to be. Ever since we left their house, they’ve become _almost_ as sassy as you.”

The brothers cracked up while Thora merely grinned.

As they traveled further into the mountain, Heather tilted her head back to see just how far up the walls went. She was met with a surprise, though: The top of the mountain was missing.

‘So either we’re actually inside a dead volcano,’ she thought, ‘or the troll royals had the top removed to let in sunlight…either way, this is kind of cool.’

Continuing to look around, she could see row after row of sturdy, earth-and-wood houses build into the ground. Many of them had fences around their property, sectioning their land into garden plots and areas for animals. In the center of the mountain rose another hill, atop which sat a long house; the queen’s home, no doubt. Closer to the hill, the houses got closer together -tradesmen houses, she guessed.

For the most part, everything _looked_ like a normal village, but as they started traveling towards the hill, they saw that it wasn’t so normal.

“I’ve never seen so many trolls,” Thora murmured, eyes wide.

“Ottalie’s Mountain houses largest population of our people,” Ulfr explained. “While handfuls of tribes live outside these walls, most choose to live here. It is safe here. There is always food, there is always shelter. War is not common and neither is sickness.”

“So why do you choose to live away from here?” Heather asked.

An almost grim look passed over the brothers’ faces. “This life not for us,” was all Ormr said.

Thora cocked her brow. She knew that tone: They didn’t like _something_ at all. Looking around, she tried to guess what it was, but found herself unable to come up with anything. There was plenty of food and shelter like Ulfr had said. The mountain was defendable should an attack on it happen. The people seemed happy enough -the children running around was proof enough of that.

But then she noticed it.

There were almost _no_ sea trolls.

It sort of made sense to her; they were nowhere close to the sea, after all. But not all sea trolls chose to live by the sea: Some lived by lakes, others by rivers. All the sea trolls she had seen, however, had been outside the mountain. And, now that she was paying closer attention, she could see that some of the trolls were giving Ormr wary looks as they passed by.

She slowed her pace, pretending to fuss with Dagrun while letting Ormr catch up to her. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, using her brothers’ native tongue.

“You just did,” he replied, brow rising. “But yes.”

“Why are there no sea trolls here?” She kept her voice quiet, even using a bit of magic so that only he heard her.

A small sigh left his mouth. “You noticed, hmm? Doesn’t surprise me. You’re good at spotting things.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Mountain and forest trolls have always been wary of sea trolls…and with good reason, to be honest. Some of _my_ kind can be… _vicious_. Not nearly as bad as swamp trolls, but bad enough that they’ve earned us a reputation for being barbaric.”

Then, shielding his mouth from all but her, he barred his teeth at her. He had, not one, but _two_ rows of long, needle-like teeth. They reminded Thora of the teeth on a comb, only sharper.

“These don’t help refute the reputation,” he told her.

She frowned. “Your teeth may not, but _your_ incredible gentle and quiet demeanor _should_ ,” she told him. “You are, quite honestly, the gentlest person I know -and I know a _lot_ of people.”

He chuckled, reaching over and setting his hand atop her head. “You are my little sister, Thora. Of _course_ you would think that.”

A pout came to her lips. “I’m serious, though! It’s one of the reasons why you’re such a great healer! You’re gentle, your patient, you’re _kind_ …Freya’s girdle, you’re way kinder than the Volva who was my first teacher!”

“That I do not doubt,” he smiled. His brow rose as Dagrun started to get fussy. “Here. Let me hold her for a while,” he said, shrinking himself down a bit. “She’s probably tired of being cooped up in that sling.”

With a sigh, Thora lifted Dagrun from the sling and passed her over to Ormr. “Probably. I know she’s not hungry -she at not long ago.”

Taking the child from his sister, he gently rubbed his nose against Dagrun’s cheek. “She doesn’t want to miss out on all the sights.” He held his niece so that she had her back resting against his chest, allowing her to gaze around with wide-eyed wonder. “Is that better, little one?”

Dagrun started to quietly babble. Once in a while, she would flail her arms or kick her feet, earning a laugh from her uncle. Thora smiled.

“Oh, no…the big, scary sea troll is holding a wee baby,” she quietly teased. “Someone stop him before he gives her too many cuddles!”

His brow rose, a small grin coming to his lips. “Heather is right: You _are_ sassy.”

“ _Someone_ has to be,” she chuckled. “But…in all seriousness, does Ottalie treat you like an outcast, too?”

He snorted. “Gods, no. She treats me the same as she treats Ulfr and Sindri - _extremely_ well. You would think having the queen’s approval would mean the rest of the city finds me alright, but…” He shrugged. “I don’t mind much. It means less people who want to talk to me.”

Thora let out a laugh. “That’s true. You like your peace and quiet.”

A wry grin came to his lips. “It’s in short supply when you’ve got Ulfr and Sindri for siblings.”

Their brothers turned around, wearing matching pouts. “Hey!” they said in unison. They must have looked rather amusing, because Dagrun burst into a fit of giggles, happily clapping her hands.

Heather, on the other hand, looked confused. “Uh…did I miss something?” she asked, brow slowly rising as she glanced between the siblings.

“Ormr’s teasing Ulfr and Sindri,” Thora explained. “Nothin’ t’ worry ab—Ulfr Gretason, don’t _ya_ dare try wrestlin’ with Ormr while he’s holdin’ my daughter!”

Smacking her forehead, Heather couldn’t help but giggle. Thora and her brothers amused her, though part of her felt jealous -and understandably so. She wanted to be able to joke around and wrestle with Dagur.

‘Hopefully, that’ll happen soon,’ she told herself. ‘So long as he’s fit for it…I have no idea if he’s going to be healthy or sick or what. And with Thora being unable to get any readings from the runestones—not that I had much hope she would. If they _really_ work, runestones can be tricky to read correctly.’

She let out a quiet sigh and tried to focus her attention on something else. That ‘something’ ended up being the hill where Ottalie’s hall stood. It, like the mountain, had appeared small from a distance, but as they grew closer to it, she could see that it was actually _massive._ To her surprise (though it really shouldn’t have been), she could see gilded knots and silver-hued figures carved into the walls. The roof, too, glittered with silver and gold designs.

‘We’re still at least three-quarters a mile away and I can see those _perfectly_ ,’ she thought, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. ‘How much wealth does this woman have that she can melt it down and use it as _paint_?! How does a place like this even exist?!’

She was beginning to wonder if they were still in Midgard and hadn’t entered Alfheim somehow.

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Death Dance and Windshear looking around. While Death’s eyes were wide with wonder, Windshear’s were narrowed and she kept herself close to the ground as she walked. But the spines on her tail weren’t raised, letting Heather know that she was only being cautious.

‘I don’t blame her,’ she thought. ‘One wrong step by some of these trolls and we’d both be squashed into jelly…’

 

It took almost half an hour to reach Ottalie’s hall. They were greeted by a pair of tall, fat forest trolls clad in bits and pieces of armor. Each had a massive ax resting beside them. As the group approached, they grabbed the axes and stepped close to one another, blocking the door from sight.

Ulfr stepped forward, his back straight and his head held high. “Brothers Gretasons, sister Gretasdotter, and guests,” he told the two trolls. The sudden volume of his voice made Heather jump; trolls had good hearing, so why did he have to yell?

The guards looked at one another before nodding and stepping apart once more. They spoke to Ulfr in his native tongue for some minutes, their tone friendly. Evidently, one of them asked about his wooden leg, as he held it out for them to see. Thora shook her head, chuckling.

Leaning over, she whispered to Heather, “They had heard he had lost _both_ legs in the war, so they were surprised he was able t’ walk at all.”

Heather chuckled. “Makes sense, though I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Me neither, especially since he was up and walking within three days. Er, well, _tryin’_ t’ walk. He mostly did a lot o’ fallin’.”

“Understandable.”

Ulfr turned around. “Little Sister, Heather? Is it alright if guards get closer look at dragons?”

Thora looked up at Death Dance, who cocked her head in interest. “I know ya want t’ check them out,” she chuckled. “Go ahead. Just be gentle, aye?”

Clacking her jaws, Death carefully made her way past the group so that she stood beside Ulfr. She lowered her head, allowing the two trolls to feel her skull and get a glimpse of her _actual_ skull beneath it. In return, she smelled them only to end up sneezing. This amused the guards; when she sneezed, her entire head shook back and forth and she looked rather confused afterwards.

Windshear was far warier. Still holding herself to the ground, she crept up alongside Death Dance like a nervous cat. The larger of the two guards crouched down and held out his hand for her to investigate. She appreciated this and crawled a bit further forward, doing just that. After a few minutes, she even let him pet her; he said something, though Heather didn’t know what.

“He said that he’s surprised by the smoothness o’ her scales,” Thora translated when she asked, “an’ by how warm they are. The feel like metal, yet they have a give t’ them. An’ now he’s wonderin’ out loud if her scales can be used t’ make armor or weapons.”

Heather grinned. “Tell him every time she sheds her skin, I get new armor.”

With a chuckle, Thora told the guard what she said. The guard let out a hearty laugh and stood up once more, resting his back against the wall. Heather figured they were allowed to pass, as Ulfr started to walk once more. She was surprised, though: The dragons were allowed to enter the hall as well.

‘The queen probably knows about them,’ she told herself. ‘After all, it’s almost unheard of on the mainland for dragons to be tamed like this…’

Stepping into the hall, they were greeted by a perfume of rosemary, costmary, and sage. It made Heather’s head swirl, but it was a pleasant mixture. Unlike most mead halls where it was dark and smoky, this one was painted in bright blues and whites and had plenty of illumination. Now used to the heavy scent, Heather realized her head felt clear and her body felt oddly light -as if an unknown burden had been removed from her shoulders.

She didn’t have time to question whether it was magic or simply reaching their destination that made her feel as such, because sitting at the far end of the hall was the most beautiful woman Heather had ever seen.

Like all trolls, Ottalie was _large_ and wore an absurd amount of jewelry. Her skin was a deep brown in color and her hair was as black as the night sky -and, like the night sky, it was decorated with hundreds of precious stones that glittered like stars. Despite her enormous tusks and oversized nose, the tenderness and care in her dark eyes and the joyful smile she wore made her look as gentle as a lamb.

As the group approached, she rose from her throne and hurried down the few steps. Throwing her arms wide open, she darted forward and was met halfway by the brothers. Heather was more than a little surprised when she gave them all hugs, but the thought was quickly banished as she heard Ottalie’s laugh.

Like Ulfr’s, it sounded deep and rumbling.

‘A mountain troll?’ she thought, also noticing that Ottalie was closer to Ulfr in height and width. ‘It would make sense, since she _lives_ in a mountain…but she could also be a forest troll. I remember Thora mentioning a way to tell the different types apart…’ She glanced up at Thora only to see her looking nervous.

Thora’s hand unconsciously rose to her necklaces while her tail slightly adjusted Dagrun’s sling. This was her first time meeting _true_ royalty; all the chieftains and tribe leaders she had met throughout her life didn’t hold nearly as much power as the woman before her and it left her feeling oddly intimidated. She knew she shouldn’t have felt that way -her brothers had praised Ottalie’s warmth and friendliness- but she felt it regardless.

She bit her tongue as Ottalie finished greeting her brothers. Ulfr started to lead her over to wear she and Heather stood with the dragons. Behind them, Ormr and Sindri followed. Sindri, she noticed, was red-faced and wore a happily dazed expression.

“You must be Thora,” Ottalie said as she approached. The words Thora heard didn’t match the movements of Ottalie’s mouth. “I have heard much about you from the writings of your brothers.” She tilted her head, looking her over with intrigue. “You are most definitely Greta’s daughter -you look just like her.”

Thora’s cheeks darkened. “I’m just the shorter version o’ her,” she replied, a bit of a smile on her lips.

Ottalie chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t going to mention _that_ ,” she smiled. She then cocked her head, looking at the sling around Thora’s torso. “I will admit, I was not told that a little one would be accompanying you.”

Her cheeks darkening even more, Thora innocent grinned. “Er…aye…She was a bit o’ a surprise t’ my brothers as well,” she admitted. “Things were a bit too busy back home t’ sit down an’ write out a letter.”

“It happens at times,” she said with a nod of understanding. She then turned towards Heather. “And you must be Heather the Unhinged!” she chirped.

Heather smiled bashfully. “Ah, ye-yes, I am,” she stammered, her cheeks pink. “I, ah, wasn’t aware you had been told of my coming…”

A knowing smile came to Ottalie’s lips. “I had heard of your exploits on the continent long before the Gretasons told me they would be bringing a guest. I wouldn’t have known who you were if it hadn’t been for your lovely dragon.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve—You’ve _heard_ of me?”

“It is hard to _not_ hear of a woman on the back of a metallic dragon who occasionally attacks Roman barracks.”

Thora’s brow rose as she looked down at Heather. “Ya didn’t tell me _that_ part o’ your travels,” she said, voice dry.

She shrank back slightly, wearing an innocent grin. “To be fair, they were dealers of human and dragon slaves,” she explained. “I couldn’t just let them keep doing it.”

“Wholly understandable,” said Ottalie. “And I praise your efforts. Not many can say they single-handedly took on the Romans and found themselves victorious.”

Heather was left speechless. She wasn’t used to such praise, _especially_ coming from a queen. Unable to speak, she merely continued to wear her bashful smile, her cheeks growing redder by the second.


	54. 54

“No, no -ya bring that _over._ The other goes under.”

“Like this?”

“Aye, like that. An’ then ya bring that one back over—see? You’re gettin’ the hang o’ it!” Thora grinned as she watched Heather attempt a new braid in her hair. “A four-strand braid is a bit harder t’ keep track of than three, I know, but you’re doin’ pretty good.”

Heather cocked her brow as she glanced up at Thora. “ _‘A bit harder’_ is putting it mildly,” she replied, voice dry. “I didn’t know I’d have to section my hair out in different parts only to gradually add them back in. How in Odin’s name am I supposed to keep the strands even!?”

“Time an’ practice -just like _everything_. The more ya do it, the better ya get.”

“Says the one using _magic_ to braid her hair.”

Thora gave her a dull look. “I wouldn’t have t’ use magic if I had _two hands_ ,” she retorted. As she spoke, her magic finished the last of many braids in her hair.

At that, Heather somewhat shrank back and her cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “Ah…sorry about that. I get a bit…testy when I’m frustrated.” She glanced over, watching as the light-blue light of Thora’s magic gathered up the dozens of braids it had made only to section them out into three sections. “I honestly didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I know,” she sighed, her tail wrapping around a small chest. “It doesn’t help that we’re both on edge.” Opening the latch on the chest, she turned it over and dumped its contents -a small fortune’s worth of jewelry- onto her bed. “We’re only gettin’ one chance at this.”

She nodded. “Yeah. It doesn’t help that we have to wait until the day _after_ tomorrow night, either.” A small pout came to her lips. “Don’t see why we can’t slip your brothers the potion tonight…”

“Because I’m not cruel,” she sighed, digging through the jewelry. “My brothers have been lookin’ forward t’ the festival for quite some time an’ I don’t know how long the potion will knock ‘em out for. On top o’ that, _I_ want t’ experience at least a wee bit o’ it…Don’t know if I’ll be invited back after all this, after all.”

Heather remained silent, not wanting to argue further. Anyway, it would be selfish of her. She knew Thora wanted Dagur back just as much as her, but she also knew that Thora had to worry about how the consequences of their plan would affect not just her, but her brothers as well.

But, by the gods, she _really_ wanted to leave.

Thora glanced over at her; Heather had been on edge ever since they had settled into their room. Part of her wanted to reach out with her magic in order to help her feel more relaxed, but she quickly shot that down.

‘No, Thora,’ she told herself. ‘It’s normal for Heather to be feeling like this. Thor’s beard, I know _exactly_ how she feels…’ She started slipping rings onto her fingers while her magic filled each of her ears with various earrings. ‘With luck, I’ll have my husband back in two or three days…And Heather will have her brother back. We just have to be _patient_.’

“How does this look?”

Coming out of her thoughts, Thora looked over at Heather only to see that she had completed the braid. It was a bit on the loose side and some parts were more uneven than others, but it had been a good first try.

“It looks really good for a first try,” she smiled.

“So…it _doesn’t_ look horrible?”

“Not at all. When we get ya covered in jewelry, no one will even be able t’ tell.”

At that, Heather stuck out her tongue. “How _much_ jewelry am I going to have to wear?” she asked, eying the pile Thora was putting on. “I know you and your brothers have to wear a lot, but since I’m not a troll…”

She shrugged. “No, but ya _are_ our guest,” she lightly teased. “You’ll be wearin’ enough for folks t’ know you’re not a commoner, but not enough for them t’ think you’re a tribal leader or somethin’.”

Nodding in understanding, she pulled a knee to her chest. “So…only ten pounds compared to your twenty?” she joked. By now, Thora’s ears were almost completely covered in gold and her hair was slowly being adorned with trinkets made of bone, mother of pearl, and some sort of jet-black stone.

“More like fifteen.” She had said it with such a deadpan expression and seriousness in her voice that Heather looked horrified. She wasn’t able to keep up the façade for long, however, and she was soon giggling. “I’m kiddin’, I’m kiddin’. You’ll wear whatever ya pick out o’ this pile.” She used her tail to motion at the jewelry beside her.

Heather cocked her brow. “But…aren’t you going to wear all of that?”

She snorted. “Not _all_ o’ it. I don’t really wear the silver stuff. It doesn’t look good with my skin or my hair. _You_ , however, would look _fantastic_ with it.” She grabbed a handful of silver hairpins, their ends decorated with small pearls. “An’ I don’t care what ya say: You’re goin’ t’ wear these tonight.”

Taking the pins from her, Heather scrunched her nose up slightly. “Alright,” she sighed. She was never really one to wear jewelry. In her opinion, it didn’t serve a practical purpose -it was only good for showing off one’s vanity and wealth.

Which, she supposed, is exactly _why_ trolls wore so much of it.

“Are you going to give Dagrun any jewelry?” she half teased, starting to scatter the pins throughout her braid.

“She’s too young. When she’s old enough t’ know it’s not a chew toy, _that’s_ when she’ll get t’ wear some.”

“So long as she’s still able to walk.”

Thora cocked her brow. “I’m not goin’ t’ _cover_ her in it. She’ll only get a few pieces like a necklace and some bracelets or hair adornments. Small things.”

Rolling her eyes, Heather chuckled. “Did _you_ always wear lots of jewelry?”

“T’ be honest?” She winced as she accidentally stabbed herself with a hair pin. “Not really. I had lots o’ piercings, but I didn’t start wearin’ actual jewelry until I visited my brothers the first time. My engagement necklace bein’ the exception, o’ course.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t take it off and sell it. That’s what _I_ would have done.”

Lifting the clear beads, Thora looked down at the necklace. “I had thought about it,” she admitted, “but I could never bring myself t’ do it. Even when I was courtin’ Cæna, I couldn’t let myself part from it. I still don’t know why, but I’m glad I kept it.”

Heather glanced over at her. “You probably kept it because it brings you some sort of comfort, oddly enough.”

Her brow rose. “What do ya mean?”

“I’ve noticed that, whenever you’re worried or nervous, you rub the necklace. Sometimes, you even do it for no reason at all.” She shrugged. “Even though my brother gave it to you when you hated him, it obviously was able to bring you _some_ sense of comfort.”

Thora was silent for a moment. Now that Heather had mentioned it, she came to realize that it _did_ bring her comfort. Was it how smooth the beads were? Or maybe it was their warmth? …Or, perhaps, it was the fact that they had come from someone who cared so deeply for her?

Her other necklace, the cord from which Cæna’s ring hung, didn’t have quite the same effect when she rubbed it. The feeling she got from it was more of a reminiscing sort; it helped her focus when she had too many things running through her mind.

“I guess you’re right,” she said at length. “Though, it is also quite pretty.”

Heather shrugged. “I guess. I never really understood the appeal of clear beads. They’re so… _plain_.”

Thora cocked her brow again. “Do ya _not_ know how hard it is t’ make _completely_ clear beads?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

“Don’t really know how beads are made in general. At least, not the glass ones like those. I imagine it involves lots of fire, though.” She chuckled, using the last pin to hold back a section of her bangs.

“ _Lots_ o’ fire.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner that night was a surprisingly simple affair. Being that it wasn’t the night of midsummer, the queen and her guests dined in her hall as bards played music. Tables of varying sizes had been set up so that the smaller guests wouldn’t feel overwhelmed by sitting next to someone four times their height.

Though she had been offered a seat with her brothers, Thora instead chose to dine with Heather. Sitting with them were a few light elves, a dwarf, and a being that looked like a woman, but was quite obviously _not_. Her skin was as white as snow while her eyes and hair were as blue as the sky. Thora had said she was a Laumè -a sort of fae creature who watches over children.

There was one thing Heather was quickly coming to realize: Most of the non-human beings were _beautiful_. Everywhere she looked, she found herself unable to stop staring. Their beauty was unearthly.

“A lot of it is due to simple wonderment,” one of the elves told her. “You’ve never seen most of these beings before -you’ve only heard of us through stories. Once you get used to seeing us, you won’t find us _nearly_ as attractive anymore.”

The dwarf nodded in agreement. “Not to mention, some of them have cast glamor spells on themselves so they _look_ attractive. A lot of these folks are really quite ugly on a normal day.” He took a long drink from his flagon of wine. “Can’t entirely blame them, though -some are so ugly, they’d terrify even the Æsir at first glance!” He, the elves, and Thora let out hearty laughs.

The Laumè merely smiled, but did not laugh.

“What are glamor spells?” Heather asked before shoving a spoonful of stew in her mouth.

“Spells that make someone look more attractive,” Thora explained, shifting the blanket covering Dagrun, who was having her dinner as well. “They’re used by all sort o’ beings -even some creatures use ‘em. Ya know how so many tales talk about hideous creatures shapeshifting into beautiful beings in order t’ lure children or unwary travelers t’ their deaths?”

“Yeah?”

“ _Not_ shapeshiftin’. Those are glamor spells.” She picked a chunk of meat from her leg of lamb and popped it into her mouth.

“But beauty alone can’t trick _everyone_ ,” Heather replied, frowning slightly.

The other elf now spoke. “Very true! There are actually two sorts of spells that can be used: The first is glamor, which is purely for appearance. The other is ensnarement, which is for both appearance and for luring. Ensnarement is mostly used by fell creatures and, because of that, has soured the act of using a glamor spell. Some still choose to use it, however.”

She nervously glanced around. “...Is there anyone _here_ using an ensnarement one?” she asked, voice a bit timid. Though she knew Thora and her brothers would keep her safe, she didn’t want her mind to be messed with because of another person’s magic.

The Laumè looked at her, a serious expression on her face as she finally spoke. “If they dared to try such a thing in Queen Ottalie’s presence, she would execute them on the spot,” she answered. Her voice was soft, like a breath of wind, but it had a weight to it that let Heather know she was not joking.

“If anything, she’d be the one to execute them,” the dwarf said. “Ottalie works hard to ensure that everyone in her realm is safe. To use an ensnarement spell while in her lands - _especially_ if she’s invited them to her midsummer festival- is basically spitting in her face.”

“Understandable,” Heather murmured. She knew her face was betraying the awe and curiosity she was feeling, but didn’t mind. It was interesting hearing other creatures talk of magic and of their laws. They were quite a bit like humans—or were humans quite a bit like them?

As the dwarf and elves -and the Laumè, though to a lesser degree- continued to explain the different aspects of non-human life, Thora let herself fall quiet. An odd feeling had come over her; an unseen force was gently tugging at her. Glancing around the room, she saw that everyone was happily engaged in either conversation or their dinnerplates.

Using Dagrun as her excuse, she excused herself from the table and left the hall. Whatever it was that was pulling on her was leading her towards her own room. She frowned; who or what wanted her?

When she reached her room, Thora pressed her ear against the door. She could hear nothing inside, but then again, the person could have been using a silence spell to mask the noises they made. Sighing in defeat, she opened the door and stepped in, making sure to keep her arm and tail wrapped protectively around Dagrun.

The room was dark, save for a dying candle inside a lantern. Her frown grew as she closed the door. There was _no_ one in the ro—

She paused. There was the slightest sound of moving fabric behind her. Spinning around, she found herself standing face-to-face with a pair of ice-blue eyes.

Thora was just barely able to keep herself from crying out as she jumped backwards. The owner of the eyes, a woman with pale, white skin and long, white-blonde hair, didn’t move an inch. If she hadn’t spotted the pair of skis strapped to the woman’s back, Thora would have been more scared.

As it was, she now felt confused.

“Skaði?” she murmured, eyes wide but brows knitted together.

“You already know who I am?” A hint of a smile came to her lips.

Thora shrugged. “The skis gave it away, t’ be honest.”

Her brow rising, the woman glanced over her shoulder. “I suppose they would,” she agreed. Then, the smile faded and she looked, unblinkingly, at Thora. “I don’t have long and neither do you. You and your kinswoman must leave tonight.”

Thora bit her tongue. “ _Tonight_?”

“I cannot say why -the Norns are already going to have my head for doing this much, but you have worked hard and deserve to know. If all goes well, you shall all return by midday on midsummer.”

She nodded slowly, trying to figure out how she and Heather were supposed to sneak away so soon. “Thank you,” she said, though her voice and voice betrayed her uncertainty.

“I am just helping to right the wrongs that have been done to you and your loves,” Skaði told her, slowly beginning to back away. Before Thora could say anything, she disappeared, leaving only a bit of snow where she had stood.

Closing her eyes, Thora let out a heavy sigh. ‘This couldn’t have been easy, could it?’ she thought, biting her tongue. Shaking her head, she shifted Dagrun before going to her belongings. Fishing through them, she grabbed the flask of sleeping potion.

She left her room, heading for her brother’s rooms. She could still hear the murmur of dinner taking place in the main hall, which left the smaller hallways devoid of life. For this, she was thankful. Dinner made it _almost_ too easy to sneak into her brothers’ rooms and pour a bit of sleeping potion into each of their pitchers of drinking water.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, letting three drops fall into Sindri’s pitcher, “but I really can’t risk the three o’ ya comin’ after us.”

When she returned to her room, she was greeted by the sight of Heather, who looked rather worried.

“Is everything alright?” Heather asked as Thora approached. “You’ve been gone for nearly half an hour.”

Thora’s brow rose. “Half an hour? Really?” Heather nodded. “That’s…odd. I feel like it’s only been ten minutes.” Shaking her head, she let out a small curse. “It’s kind o’ a good thing ya came t’ check on me, though.”

“Uh oh.”

“Kind o’. I’ve—I’ve received a bit o’ news.”

“Double uh oh.”

She nodded. “We need t’ leave _tonight_. I don’t know why -I was only told that we need t’ leave tonight an’, that if all goes well, we should be back by midday on midsummer.”

Heather frowned. “ _Who_ told you this?” she demanded. “It wasn’t the stones, was it? Or did you have a vision?” Her voice betrayed her skepticism.

“Neither. Skaði -aye, _that_ Skaði- told me.”

Heather was silent as she stared at Thora in confused wonder. She made no effort to resist her as she set her hand on her shoulder, turning her around, and lightly pushing her back towards the feast.

“Act _normal_ ,” Thora instructed. “We can’t let anyone know something is up, alright? All they need t’ know is that Dagrun got an icky tummy and needed t’ be burped an’ soothed.”

Heather slowly nodded. “Al—alright,” she murmured. She glanced up and over her shoulder. “How do you know it was _really_ Skaði, though?”

“She’s the only person in the Nine Realms who’d be carryin’ _skis_ with her in the middle o’ summer.”


	55. 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few chapters left! Also, Merry Christmas to those who observe! And to those who don't, I hope you have a wonderful day!

The day had started normally enough.

Dagur yawned as he started to wake up. He then quietly grunted; his right arm felt dead and lifeless. Opening an eye, he saw why: Cæna was curled up beside him, his head resting on Dagur’s bicep. His brow rising, Dagur let out a quiet chuckle and rolled his eyes.

“Can I have my arm back?” He didn’t expect Cæna to reply, so when he spoke, he was a bit startled.

“Mm… _Nope_.” Though he kept his eyes shut, Cæna grinned. “It’s too comfortable.”

“For _you_. For me, it’s just a dead weight right now.”

“Even more reason for me to _not_ give it back.” He let out a small laugh as Dagur awkwardly tried pulling his arm out from under him.

Dagur clenched an eye shut, a mild look of pain coming to his face. “Augh, the _tingles_ are starting,” he grumbled.

Cæna continued to laugh as Dagur made a variety of faces thanks to his waking arm. “Gods, you should see yourself right now!” he laughed. “You look _hilarious_!”

He pouted. “I’m glad I look _hilarious_ while my arm reanimates itself from the dead.” He paused for a moment; was ‘reanimates’ even the right word? Shrugging it off, he decided it’d be better to not bring attention to it.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Cæna kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s a wonderful thing to see first thing in the morning.” Before Dagur could tackle him back down, he slid out of bed, looking for his trousers.

Rolling his eyes, Dagur somewhat grinned as he shook his arm. “ _Someone_ got a good night’s sleep.” His face was promptly covered by his own trousers as Cæna threw them at him. He pulled them off, still pouting and ready to throw them back, but there was a loud pounding on the door.

“Shut up an’ get dressed, you rats!” barked a gruff voice. “You’re _late_! No breakfast for the both of you; go _straight_ t’ work!”

Cæna let out a heavy sigh, slouching forward somewhat. “Great. And here I thought we had woken up _early_ …” Shaking his head, he found his shirt and tugged it on over his head before sitting on the floor and pulling on his boots.

His arm still tingling something fierce, Dagur started to get dressed as well. “I have kitchen duty this week,” he told him. “I’ll try and sneak you something, alright?”

He shook his head. “No, no…I don’t want to risk Urd’s wrath. Today’s midsummer’s eve—her _least_ favorite day of the year.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’ve heard all sorts of different reasons, rangin’ from it being Greta’s birthday to it simply being the second longest day of the year. What the real reason is, I don’t know.”

Dagur frowned, a bit of a thoughtful look on his face. “Interesting…” he murmured. “Maybe I should actually _refrain_ from agitating her for once, then.”

Cæna gave him a dry look. “Like you’d _actually_ do that.”

He shrugged, standing up and looking for his shirt. He eventually found it under the bed -how it got there, he didn’t know. “If she’s feeling extra nasty today, I don’t want to risk pissing her off and, in return, her hurting you since she can’t hurt me. I’ll let one of the other slaves or servants do that,” he said, his voice a bit muffled thanks to his shirt. As he got his head through it, he was hit in the face by his tunic. “Will you stop that?!” he half laughed, half scolded.

“Not my fault you’re taking your sweet time getting dressed,” Cæna replied, his brow raised a bit of a smirk on his lips. He turned his back on Dagur, heading for the door. “I’ll see you around dinner, alright?” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

“Unless I break something, then you’ll see me sooner.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please no…I’m so sick of working on pots and pans. I’m _finally_ getting to work on other things.” Sighing, he shook his head. “Not that it matters, really…I’m only ever _fixing_ things anymore. I haven’t gotten to _make_ anything in nearly two years…”

Dagur frowned as he watched Cæna leave. He knew that he enjoyed creating weapons and tools more than fixing them; it was more rewarding than fixing someone else’s creation. But it couldn’t be helped. Urd wouldn’t allow him to make weapons, lest he attempt to use them against her and her guards.

‘Not that a single man wielding a sword could do much damage here,’ he thought, running a hand through his hair. Leaving the room, he shivered; this far underground, the summer sun wasn’t able to warm the air. ‘Cæna could maybe bring down one of the trolls, but he’d be killed before he got more than three. If he had my help, though, we could bring down at _least_ five before he got too hurt to keep fighting…’

Shaking his head, he let out a small sigh and started to climb a set of stairs. The steps were larger than human stairs; he almost had to hop in order to reach the next one. Once he reached the top, he was greeted by the sight of a grumpy-looking old… _thing_. He hadn’t been told what sort of creature this was or what gender they were—he had only been told that they were called Cookie and they were the one who made all of the food.

“You’re late!” Cookie snapped, reaching out and thwacking him with a wooden spoon. “I was ‘bout to come get you myself and _then_ you would’a been sorry.” They were also one of the few slaves Dagur had come to _despise_.

They could be as cruel as they were ugly.

“Ow!” he yelped, rubbing the spot on his arm. “Yeah, sorry—got a little extra sleep this morning.” Looking down at his bicep, he saw a large, red welt already beginning to form. He was certain that, by tomorrow, it would turn into a large bruise.

“Hmph. You don’t deserve it,” they snuffed, turning and heading back down the hall. “You wouldn’t’ve slept so long if you didn’t spend half the night fu—”

“What are we making today?” he interjected, not wanting to hear their ranting and raving. “Roasted deer lungs? Fried pig’s brains?” He wished he was joking, but those had been the first two meals he had helped Cookie make.

As he came into the kitchen, Cookie threw a leather apron at him. “Nothin’ so easy, _boy_. Today’s bread making day and that means a lot of work for you.” They let out a hoarse laugh before pointing at the large oven at the far side of the kitchen. “Get a fire goin’ in there,” they ordered, “an’ then I’ll show you how to make the bread.”

Grumbling to himself, Dagur did as he was ordered. It took some time, making a fire large enough to fill a corner of the oven, but he was eventually able to get a roaring fire going that would produce nice, hot coals.

“Alright, I’m done,” he said, using his teeth to pull a couple of splinters from his fingers. “What now?”

Cookie looked up from the bowl they were adding flour to. “Wash your hands an’ get over here,” they snapped.

It took a great deal of willpower for him to not snottily mock them; Cookie was also one of the few people who could actually _hurt_ him should he get in trouble.

‘I wish I knew how this necklace worked,’ he thought as he scrubbed his hands. ‘I know it’s some sort of protection rune, but what _exactly_ is it protecting me from?’ He grabbed a towel, rubbing it over his hands. ‘It keeps Urd and her guards from hurting me…’

Cookie had finished kneading the contents of their bowl by the time he walked over. “Now, since you’re a male an’ humans have this thing against lettin’ males cook, you probably have no idea how bread’s made,” they started, covering the top of the bowl with a towel. “So pay good attention or I’ll wallop you.”

He bit his tongue; it worked to keep him from talking. Standing beside Cookie, he followed along with their instructions. First, he had to fill the bowl with a mixture of flour and salt, using his fingers to make a ‘well’ in the middle. Then, he had to use his hand to mix well while adding a mixture of cultured yeast and water -the latter having to be added in small quantities until the dough was just starting to come together. Next came the kneading; this part was a bit cathartic, as he was able to channel his frustrations into the dough. Finally, once it felt smooth and soft, he had to return it to the bowl and cover it with a cloth to let it rise.

It was surprisingly easy.

After they had made five loaves of plain bread, they started working on other flavors. Cookie didn’t trust him to work with the sweet, dessert breads, so he was left, instead to make the more savory loaves.

‘No wonder breadmaking is left to the women,’ he thought, sprinkling anise seeds into the flour and salt mixture. ‘This is their way of getting beefy.’

As he poured some water into the bowl, he glanced over at Cookie. They had temporarily abandoned their bowl in favor of making something over at the hearth. By the smell of it, they were making a boozy syrup.

When they returned to the bench, pot in hand, Dagur had finished the anise loaf and was looking through the spices.

“What sort of bread should I make next?” he asked, picking up a jar. Smelling its contents, he found it to be cumin. “Cumin, coriander, and garlic sounds good…”

“Don’t you _dare_ put cumin in anythin’!” Cookie hissed, eyes narrowed as they glared up at Dagur. “That’s reserved for slave meals _only_!”

His brow rose and he set the jar down. “And why is that?” He instead reached for the coriander and the garlic.

“Cumin does _nasty_ things to Lady Urd,” they explained. “Nasty, nasty things…You stay far away from that cumin, _boy_ , because if I find out you used it in any’a these breads, I’ll have your hide hangin’ from the rafters!”

“Alright, alright—I won’t use it,” he replied, tone defensive. “Sheesh. Even Thora wasn’t _that_ mean about making me not use cumin…” He added the chunks of garlic and coriander seeds into the flour.

And then he paused. Thankfully, Cookie was too busy with their bread to notice. He glanced over at Cookie, slowly beginning to stir the water and yeast into the bowl.

‘So Urd has the same problem with cumin as Thora?’ he thought, inwardly grinning. ‘Though, from the sounds of it, her problem is _far_ worse…Could it potentially kill her?’

His clean hand twitched slightly as he stole a look at the jar of cumin. He badly wanted to dump the entire thing into his bowl and then shove the loaf down Urd’s throat, but it would be in vain. Cumin had a smell that was hard to mask; he wouldn’t be able to open the jar without Cookie knowing, let alone bake a loaf of bread with it.

‘It’s something that’s good to know, though,’ he told himself. ‘I could slip it into her afternoon tea or into her mulled wine…The wine would be the better bet. It has stronger flavors that would help mask the cumin. But is she even going to want mulled wine this time of year…? It’s summer. But, the summer here is fairly cool compared to back home, so maybe she’d like some?’

“Boy, quit your daydreamin’ and _listen_ to me!”

He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts and looking at Cookie. “Sorry, what?”

They cocked a brow at him, their hands on their hips in a rather parental fashion. “I said it’s nearly noon,” they repeated, “an’ you and Cæna haven’t eaten a bite all day. ‘Cept maybe of each other, but that’s none’a my business. Get some meat, cheese, an’ beer an’ go share it with your lover-boy. When you come back, the bread’ll be ready for bakin’.” They turned back to the vegetables they were now chopping. “An’ don’t go thinkin’ this is me being kind. I just don’t want any of my workers passin’ out on me from hunger.”

“If you say so,” he chuckled, thankful for the break. His shoulders and back were beginning to hurt from all the kneading. Doing as instructed, he went into the pantry and started to gather up an armful of food.

As he searched for a good cheese to go with smoked venison, he caught sight of the extra store of spices. Making sure Cookie wasn’t watching, he went to see if any of them were cumin. Unable to read any of the foreign runes, he was forced to quickly smell their contents.

At last, he came across a small, rather dusty jar. The cumin it contained smelled _warmer_ than the jar of freshly ground cumin; he wondered if it was due to age or if it was a different type of cumin. Not thinking much further about it, he corked the jar once more and shoved it into his belt before grabbing some smoked venison, some cheese, and a flask of beer.

He then hurried off, not wanting to seem suspicious.

 

“I can’t believe you managed to steal something from _Cookie_ of all people.”

“I don’t think they even remembered they had it. Look how dusty this thing is.” Dagur held up the bottle, its surface dull in the sunlight thanks to the dust covering it. “Now the trick is figuring out when and how to use it.”

Shaking his head, Cæna swallowed a bite of cheese. “It’s too dangerous, Dagur,” he told him, voice quiet. “What if it _doesn’t_ kill her? What it just makes her sick?”

He shrugged, tucking it back into his belt. “Then she’ll be stuck in the privy and she can suffocate on the fumes.”

Cæna couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. “As amusing as that would be, I say _don’t risk it_. The last thing we need is for her to go into such a rage that we _all_ end up dead.” He sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“I’m not going to use it anytime soon,” he assured him, breaking off a chunk of venison. He reached up, poking Cæna’s lips with it until he took it in his mouth. “Like I said, I don’t know _when_ or _how_ to use it.” He tore off another bit of meat, shoving it into his own mouth only to stick out his tongue in disgust. “Ugh…what did they use to smoke this venison?! It tastes like shit.”

Cæna took the hunk of meat from him and smelled it. “Holly,” he answered. His brow rose. “Why would they use holly, though? Its smoke is putrid…”

“Maybe they used holly because they were going to feed it to us slaves?” Dagur sighed. “Ugh. I’m sorry I grabbed nasty meat. At least the cheese and beer are good, though.” As he spoke, he picked up the flask of beer and uncorked it. “Want me to toss the meat to the pigs?”

He shook his head. “No. As disgusting as it is, we should still eat some of it. It’ll keep our energy up better than cheese and beer alone would.”

Dagur stuck his tongue out once more. “I hate how right you are…”

Chuckling, Cæna leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I only know from experience.”

“Experience here or back when you were free?”

“Both, to be honest.” He bit into his small block of cheese. “Here has worse consequences, though.” Sitting up a bit straighter, he tried to peek into the forge to check on the coals. “Damn. Can’t see them. Hold on.” Standing up, he crossed the smithy.

Chewing a second bite of meat, Dagur watched him in silence. He noticed how Cæna’s clothes were starting to grow a bit threadbare in places and he wondered if Urd would give him new clothing or if she’d make him wear what he had until his clothes rotted off his body. He shook his head and started looking for his own chunk of cheese.

‘Urd gave me the clothes I’m wearing,’ he thought, ‘and they were in relatively decent shape. So she’s bound to give him something of similar quality, right? He’d freeze during the winter if she didn’t…’

Both men jumped as thunderous yelling erupted from across the courtyard. Getting to his feet, Dagur joined Cæna by the door where they poked their heads outside. They could see Urd smacking one of the troll servants repeated with a broom; there was a pile of partly folded linens lying on the ground.

“She must have dropped them,” Dagur whispered.

“Or turned the corner and ran into Urd,” Cæna whispered back. “Either way, see what I meant by her being in a fouler-than-normal mood today?”

Both froze as Urd whipped around, her eyes fixed on them. “I can _hear_ you two!” she snarled. Broom still in hand, she started to storm towards them.

His eyes widening, Dagur quickly shoved Cæna behind him. Unconsciously, he reached behind him and grabbed the bottle of cumin. He flicked the cork out and let his palm fill with the power.

“You think you can insult me when I’ve my back turned, do you?!” she growled, nearly at the door by now.

“We-We weren’t disrespecting you!” Cæna stammered, backing away from both Dagur and the stampeding troll. “We were just wondering what she had done to upset you!”

“A likely excuse!” she snarled, barging into the smithy. “I heard your whisperings. I _always_ hear your whisperings.”

“He’s telling the _truth_ ,” Dagur growled, slowly backing up so he could continue acting as a barrier. “We _weren’t_ disrespecting you. It was honest curiosity that we were discussing _civilly_. You should try it sometime, you know. Being civil. You’ll make a _lot_ more friends that way.”

Cæna shrank down, clutching Dagur’s shoulder. “ _Shut up_!” he hissed. “You’re making things worse!”

By now, Urd was fully within the smithy. Normally hunched over, she stood upright, intimidating even Dagur with her full height -he had never seen her stand straight. “I am beyond _tired_ of your insults, whelp,” she snarled, eyes fixed on Dagur.

He stared right back at her, but said nothing.

“Not a day goes by where you don’t attempt to humiliate me,” she continued. As she spoke, her tail slowly started to snake its way across the floor, its color allowing it to blend in with the dirt and hay. “At first, I dealt with it because you had _some_ use thanks to your strength. But it’s true what they say: You can’t have brawn _and_ brains-”

“Clearly. Just look at _you_ for example,” Dagur said before he could stop himself.

Her lips pulled back, showing sharp, yellow teeth. “But I know _just_ the way to get you to finally _shut up_.”

Cæna suddenly let out a cry as he was dragged forward, Urd’s tail wrapped around his waist. Dagur’s eyes widened and he reached out, trying to loosen the tail’s grip.

“Let him go!” he ordered, teeth clenched as he one-handedly fumbled with the tail. “Let him go _right_ now!”

She wore a wickedly gleeful smile on her lips as she watched Cæna writhe in pain. “Oh, don’t worry! I have _far worse_ things in store for him,” she sneered. “And it’s all thanks to—”

A howl of surprise and pain shook the smithy as Dagur leapt up and, slamming the palm of his hand into her face, forced the powdered cumin into her eyes, nose, and mouth. As he landed back on his feet, Urd clawed at her face in a vain attempt to rid it of the spice. Seeing that she still squeezed Cæna in her tail, Dagur looked around for anything to help pry him free.

Instead, he saw one of Cæna’s chisels.

Uttering a prayer to the gods, he snatched up the chisel. Hurrying back to Cæna, he felt alone part of Urd’s tail, looking for the small indent that marked the joining of two bones. Then, finding one, he brought the chisel down, hard, through the joint.

Urd howled again as nearly half her tail uncoiled from around Cæna and fell to the ground.

“I WILL _KILL_ YOU FOR THIS!” she screamed, turning this way and that and blindly flinging her arm about in hopes of finding one of the humans.

Saying nothing, Dagur led Cæna around to the back of the smithy where they fled through the backdoor. They didn’t get far, however. The courtyard was already filling with guards and concerned servants and slaves. A pair of guards caught them before they could duck into the kitchens, though they were only able to truly grab Cæna.

“Don’t you touch him!” Dagur snarled, kicking one of the guards in the shin as he tried to grab Cæna by the throat. He did his best to shield the other man with his own body, but Cæna was taller than him, making it a difficult task.

He could barely remember the last time he had felt so angry.

Inside the smithy, Urd’s wailing was finally beginning to settle down. Outside, the guards had settled for circling around the two humans, their weapons pointed at them. Soon, a bruised, bleeding, and limping Urd came outside. Her face was swollen and blistered, though she was still able to breathe.

‘So her allergy is just a skin allergy,’ Dagur found himself thinking. ‘Wish it was the same as Thora’s…Then the hag would be _dead_.’

“She’s going to kill me,” Cæna whimpered, clutching onto Dagur’s shirt. “She’s going to kill me. I’m going to die. I’m going to die _here_. I escaped one prison only to die in another.” He was shaking so badly from fear that Dagur shook as well. “I’ll never see Thora again. I’ll never see my uncle again. _I’m going to die._ ”

“You’re damn right I’m going to kill you!” Urd shouted, her words partially slurred thanks to her swollen, oversized lips. “And I’m going to make your _precious_ lover-boy watch as I do it, too! Oh, but don’t worry: I’ll send your head to my whore of a niece and the rest of you to your idiotic uncle!”

 

~*~*~

 

The rest of the day was eerily quiet. The guards, having managed to pry the two apart, had locked Dagur and Cæna in separate cells of the dungeon. They were only across the hall from one another, though, allowing them to see and talk to each other if they wanted.

But they hadn’t talked. Not for many hours. Dagur knew Cæna was more than a little upset with him—and rightly so. It was because of him that Cæna was going to be killed at sunrise. If he had just kept his big, dumb mouth shut…

‘No,’ he thought, brows furrowed. ‘ _No_. She’s the one who refused to believe us. She’s the one who started this whole mess!’ He could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. ‘We _were_ only wondering what the servant had done, but _nooo_ —Urd had to go and think we were gossiping about her! If she hadn’t kept egging me on, I would have never—’

Before he could stop himself, he slammed his fist into the stone wall. As he hissed in pain, Cæna looked up and across at him. “What are you doing?” he demanded, voice quiet. Dagur hated how defeated and empty he sounded. “You can’t _punch_ your way out of there.”

“I needed to punch _something_ ,” he sighed. “I just wish it was Urd’s big, ugly face…” His lip drew back in a snarl and he ended up punching the wall again.

Shaking his head, Cæna buried his face in his arms again. “Save your strength,” he mumbled. “You’re going to need it. She’s going to push you and push you and push you until you die either of exhaustion or you kill yourself out of frustration.”

“So be it. After all, _I’m_ the one who deserves to die. Not you. You’re wholly innocent in this damned mess.” Closing his eyes, his hand unconsciously slipped under his tunic and grasped his necklace. “Gods only know that’d I’d trade places with you if I could…”

He cocked a brow. Or could he…?

“Don’t you _dare_ let yourself get killed!” Cæna suddenly snapped. Because of the dimness of the dungeons, he couldn’t see that Dagur was now staring, wide-eyed, at his palm. “I may be dying in a few hours, but _you_ need to make sure you spite Urd even further by finding a way out of this Hel-hole, do you understand? _One_ of us needs to get back to Thora and it’s going to _have_ to be you.” His voice was full of energy again -heated energy fueled by anger and hatred.

“No,” Dagur murmured, voice a bit distant.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?! You are _not_ killing yourself—” He blinked, feeling something hit him in the center of his forehead. Frowning, he looked down at his lap only to quietly swear.

It was Dagur’s necklace.

Looking up once more, he saw Dagur standing at the front of his cell, hands gripping the bars. “ _You_ are going to live,” he said. “ _You’re_ going to find a way out of here and get back to Thora. You’re the one who deserves to live.”

“Dagur, no-”

“ _Cæna, yes._ ” He stared down at the floor, tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault we’re in this mess. It’s _always_ my fault. No matter how hard I try, I always manage to fuck something up. Well…this is the last time. I’m not going to let anyone else get hurt because of me.”

Cæna looked between him and the necklace many times, his mind trying to form coherent thoughts. “But what if it doesn’t work on me?” he finally managed to ask.

“It will. I _know_ it will.”


	56. 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late x_x my mom had to go to the ER yesterday (she's back home now and doing a bit better) and my dad's sick, so I've been doing double homecare duty on top of trying to enjoy some game time with my friends. It's...been busy, lol

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“We’re goin’ nor’-nor’-west, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Then we’re goin’ the right way.”

Heather let out an impatient sigh as she crossed her arms over her chest. “We should have taken Windshear. We’d be there by now if we took her.”

Thora glanced over her shoulder. “Windshear may be fast, but she’s not threatenin’ enough t’ get us an audience with Urd,” she told her, a bit of firmness to her voice. “Death Dance, however, _is_. She can also carry the three o’ us with ease. Windshear…wouldn’t enjoy havin’ me on her back, trust me.”

“You’re not _that_ heavy,” she grumbled. She knew Thora was right, but her impatience and her worry was starting to get the better of her. With their plans suddenly changing, she was scared that something bad was happening to her brother and that they may not make it in time to save him.

Shaking her head, Thora let out a quiet sigh and gripped her necklaces -not out of concern, but out of frustration. “Ya know as well as I that if there was a way t’ make Death fly faster, I would have used it,” she told her. “Anyway, I doubt a _goddess_ would risk her neck t’ tell us t’ leave earlier only for us t’ be too late. Don’t you think?”

Heather was silent, though she knew Thora was right.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Thora continued, squinting through the night as she leaned over Death’s neck. “There are signs o’ civilization comin’ up.”

Cocking her brow, Heather tried to peer down and see what she meant. But she couldn’t see much. The moon illuminated the tops of trees and hills, but what lay past that was hidden by the blackness of night. “How can you see _anything_?”

“I’m not _seeing_ anythin’,” she replied. “I _feel_ it.”

“Feel it? How?”

Thora glanced over her shoulder once again, her brow raised. “Magic,” she replied. “There is a lot o’ magic in this place. A lot o’ it is foul magic, tainted by hate an’ greed. That, alone, tells me we’re goin’ in the right direction.”

“If you insist.” She couldn’t feel a thing, but she had come to realize that was normal when something involved magic.

Dagrun, however, could feel something. The closer they got to their destination, the fussier and more agitated she became. There was little Thora could do to calm her other than to place a few small spells on her to protect her and to put a sleep spell on her.

“Are you sure you want her to be sleeping?” Heather asked, taking Dagrun while Thora used her tail to help her fasten a strange belt around her chest. It had a sheath attached to it, but she couldn’t tell if the sheath held anything. “What if you forget she’s there because of how quiet she is?”

“Ya act like I haven’t carried her around while she was asleep hundreds o’ times before,” she chuckled. Heather noticed how weary her voice sounded. “I’ll remember she’s there. I just can’t have her causin’ a fuss. I’m already less than intimidatin’; if I had a wailin’ child on my back, I’d be even less so.”

She nodded in agreement. “True. What will you need me to do?”

“Stand there, say nothin’, hold the tins, an’ look as mean as possible.”

“…You don’t want me to talk? And what tins? Why do I have to hold them?”

“Most o’ this is going to be a faux negotiation,” she explained, now wrapping a cloak around herself. “I’m goin’ t’ get us in by demandin’ Urd trade Dagur back to us in exchange for a fortune’s worth o’ rare herbs and spices -ones that are _extremely_ difficult for her t’ get a hold of so far north.”

“I see,” she murmured. “Makes sense, but do you think it’ll work?”

Thora frowned, feeling the foul magic even more now.  It wouldn’t be much longer until they reached their destination. “It’s going t’ have t’ work. It’s our only hope.”

 

* * *

 

 

The guards came half an hour before dawn.

They bound both Dagur and Cæna’s wrists behind their backs with heavy, iron shackles before pushing them forward. Dagur took note of how surprised they looked when it was he who stumbled forward and not Cæna. But they merely shrugged it off and forced them to continue out of the dungeon.

The two men were brought into the courtyard, where the chopping block used to slaughter chickens and game fowl had been brought. The only light in the area was provided by two torches held by a servant on either side of the chopping block. A small crowd had gathered to watch the execution; most of them were slaves. Urd had forced them there so that they could see just what they could expect if they tried to act up.

Urd, herself, was sitting in a chair some yards from the chopping block. Her face was less swollen, but she still looked bloated and fat thanks to what swelling there was. As the two humans were brought before her and forced to kneel on the cold ground, she narrowed her eyes.

“Any last words?” she questioned, her tone a mocking one.

“Actually, yeah,” Dagur retorted.

“ _Not_ from you!” she snarled, her leg twitching. She badly wanted to kick him, but she knew it’d be of no use. The necklace would just stop her foot an inch from his body.

Dagur sneered at her. “Then I guess I _won’t_ tell you that you won’t be able to kill Cæna,” he replied.

She leaned forward in her chair, teeth barred. “And just _why_ is that?” she demanded.

“I gave him the necklace.”

Her brows remained furrowed, but her eyes widened. Looking at Cæna, she tried to grab him, but despite his flinching at her sudden movement, she was unable to touch him. She then tried to backhand him, but got the same result.

And then a wicked grin came to her lips. Standing, she grabbed Dagur by the throat and lifted him up, cackling with glee.

“Finally!” she laughed, her voice filling the area. “ _Finally_ I can do whatever I want to you!”

Dagur grunted, squirming slightly as he attempted to keep his neck muscles flexed. It helped a little; he was able to breathe in short gasps of air. But Urd had a tight grip. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer.

Not that he had to, as she threw him across the courtyard. A yelp of pain left his mouth as he hit the ground and slid back a few feet. Before he could recover, Urd had run over to him and kicked him, sending him rolling back even further and knocking what little air was left in his lungs.

Face-down on the ground, he gasped for breath. His ribs ached and he could taste blood in his mouth. But he had expected this to happen. He knew Urd would be overcome with joy upon hearing that she could, at last, hurt him.

“Maybe there won’t be an execution after all!” Urd cackled, lifting Dagur up once again. She turned around, holding him up for everyone to see; she was almost disappointed by his lack of snappy comeback. “Now that I can beat this whelp as much as I’d like, I may just have to keep him around!” She threw him yet again, smirking as he flew into Cæna.

The two men were sent tumbling back into the crowd of slaves as cries rang out from the front wall. A frown coming to her face, Urd turned around in time to see a massive dragon flying towards the courtyard. Her eyes widened in surprise and she threw herself back in time to avoid being crushed as it landed.

She was ready to hit it with a blast of magic when two figures jumped from its back: A human and a half troll. Her eyes narrowed once again when she saw just _who_ the half-troll was.

“So _you’re_ my sister’s biggest mistake,” she sneered. “And here I was thinking you’d look more like your oaf of a human father.” The earth around the dragon and its riders glowed blood-red, but before it could shoot upwards to harm them, it disappeared.

“I’m not here t’ be insulted, _auntie_ ,” Thora replied, voice cold and confident as she walked forward. Sky-blue light enveloped Heather and Death Dance. “I’m here t’ trade for my _husband_.” She only stopped when she was less than three feet from Urd.

Urd hated how unafraid she was; she was puny compared to other trolls! She should have been cowering before her! “And what makes you think I’ll trade with you?” she scoffed. “You, who come flying into my fortress uninvited and acting as if you are better than me! You, who interrupt this morning’s execution!”

A few of her guards laughed, though the servants and slaves nervously shuffled together, scared.

“I have saffron,” Thora told her. Seeing Urd’s eyes widen slightly, she smirked. “And I have cinnamon, cubeb, mastic, ginger, spikenard, _cardamom_ …” She used her tail to point at Heather, who held a tower of tins of varying sizes. “Give me back my husband and I’ll give it all t’ ya.”

“…Cinnamon? Cardamom? _Saffron_?” Urd murmured, eyes even wider and jaw falling slightly slack. To get such spices to her realm would have cost _her_ half her fortune…and yet, here was her dumb niece, willing to trade it all for a worthless human.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “I don’t believe you,” she said, voice cool. “ _No one_ would trade so much for someone so worthless.” Turning, she stormed back to her chair, plopping down in it and glaring at her niece.

Thora’s brow rose. “He may be worthless t’ ya, but as I said: He’s my _husband_ an’ I want him back.”

“Then prove it,” Urd sneered. “Show me the contents of those tins. _Prove_ that you’re not lying to me.”

Looking over her shoulder, Thora nodded. Heather came forward, the blue light still around her as she carried the tins towards Urd. She looked around, doing her best to look as mean as possible.

“I see your mother and you differ in one area,” Urd commented, somewhat amused. “ _She_ didn’t approve of having slaves.”

“She isn’t my slave. She’s my sister-in-law,” Thora replied.

Setting the tower on the ground in front of Urd, Heather caught sight of something from the corner of her eye. Daring to look, her eyes widened: It was Dagur and he looked to be in a _lot_ of pain.

But, before she could go to him, the magic around her was forcing her to stand up and return to Thora’s side. She gave her a pleading look, but Thora’s eyes were fixed on Urd.

With no small amount of hesitation, Urd pointed at one of her slaves, a young boy no older than ten. He stepped forward and started to shake in fear. “Open that top one,” she ordered him. “And be quick about it!”

He darted forward, doing as he was told. The tin was large compared to his small body, making it a bit difficult for him to pry off the lid. When he finally got it off, however, he was greeted by a warm, almost earthy smell. Before he could check its contents, Urd snatched the tin from him.

Tipping the tin over, she watched as dozens of small seedpods tumbled into her palm. She held them up to her nose, deeply inhaling their scent. “It’s been _decades_ since I last smelled cardamom,” she murmured, a small grin coming to her lips. Then, remembering what was happening, she glared down at the boy. “What are you waiting for?!” she snapped. “Open the rest!” She glanced at the skyline; the sun was beginning to rise.

Thora shifted her weight from one foot to the other, doing her best to remain as stoic as possible. It was hard, though, knowing that Dagur was so close. Glancing down at Heather, she saw that she was staring at the group of slaves to the left of Urd’s chair.

‘Please don’t do anything stupid, Heather,’ she thought. ‘We can’t risk it. Urd was already beating Dagur when we arrived. Which means he lost his necklace…it was probably taken before he was sold off.’

Her ear twitched slightly; someone was beating metal somewhere nearby.

‘With luck, Urd will accept the spices,’ she continued to tell herself. ‘Then I can go forward. She’ll bring Dagur forward and start to unshackle him only to-’

“Do you know how much this all cost?” Urd suddenly sneered.

“Of course I do. I _bought_ it, after all,” she replied.

Rising to her feet, Urd came over to her. Inwardly, Thora started to panic; Urd wasn’t supposed to leave the chair! She was supposed to remain sitting and summon _her_ forward in order to try and kill her! At least, that’s what Greta had shown her.

But she had also seen all this taking place at sunset, not sun _rise_. What had made things change?

“This _offering_ you brought me is paltry.” In an act of intimidation, Urd straightened her posture and set her hands on her hips. Now standing at her full height, she loomed over as Greta had done -only her stance was aggressive, not welcoming. “The fact that you think your idiot of a husband is worth so _little_ amuses me.”

Thora frowned. “So _little_?” she repeated. “What I brought ya is worth _your_ weight in gold!”

“Exactly,” she smirked, eyes narrowing. “If you truly want Dagur back, then you would pay _twice_ this amount. At least, you would if you wanted him _whole._ This amount is hardly worth his idiotic face.”

Thora flung her arm out, stopping Heather from attacking Urd -not that she could do much. “If I bring ya even more, do ya swear t’ give me my husband back?” She was feeling less panicked now; she was close to Urd. Now she just had to try and be as subtle as possible…

Urd leaned over so that Thora could see the glint of her yellowish teeth in the rising sunlight. “I make no promises that he’ll still be alive,” she told her, “but I can promise you’ll get his body back.”

She narrowed her eyes; warm metal slipped from her sleeve into her palm. “Then I’ll just have t’ _take_ my husband back.”

Urd’s eyes shot open as the breath was forced from her lungs. A sharp pain filled her stomach and, as she looked down, she could see blood beginning to stain her dress. Sticking out of her gut was a weapon all-too familiar to her: Greta’s spearhead.

To Thora’s horror, she started to laugh.

“Well, well, well!” she cackled, grabbing the blade and yanking it out of her. “You’re either entirely too confident in yourself or just plain _stupid_.”

It _had_ been a fatal hit, but because Thora hadn’t angled the blade, she had only stabbed into Urd’s stomach. It would take hours for her to die from the wound, giving her more than enough time to simply heal herself.

And heal herself she did. Placing her hand over her wound, she summoned her black-tinged magic. “Greta must be so _proud_ wherever she is,” she sneered, stalking towards her niece, “knowing that her whore of a daughter is also a graverobber!”

“Stop calling her a whore!” someone shouted.

Urd spun around, her teeth barred in anger at whoever had yelled. Thinking it was Dagur, she started to storm towards him only to stumble forward as one of her legs gave out. She looked down, finding Thora’s tail wrapped around her ankle. Growling, she turned around, her knuckles white as she gripped the spearhead.

Thora reached behind her and, with a shrug of her shoulders, felt a familiar handle slip fall into her palm. Her timing couldn’t have been better: With a roar, Urd lunged at her. Her tail helping her, she held her ax up so that it took the brunt of her aunt’s impact. Her weight, however, sent the two of them tumbling backwards.

Before any of the guards could start react, Death Dance jumped forward and unfurled her wings, slamming some into the walls. Another she snatched up in her jaws and, with a flick of her head, she sent him flying far over the fortress walls. A second group of guards went crashing _through_ the wall as she spun around, slamming into them with her tail.

Despite her violence, however, she took care to not hit any of the slaves.

As she watched Urd and Thora exchange blows and knock each other around, Heather found herself extremely grateful that _she_ had Dagrun strapped to her back. But now she was left torn: Should she try to help Thora or should she go to Dagur?

“I’m sorry, Thora,” she whispered, starting to run towards Dagur, “but I didn’t come this far to leave without him.” As she reached the group of slaves, she pushed some of them away. “Move! I’m his sister!” she ordered. They moved, allowing her to drop to her knees at Dagur’s side.

Despite the pain he felt and the blood oozing from the corners of his mouth, Dagur smiled up at her. “Now there’s a face I didn’t think I’d see again,” he chuckled, voice weak. “Hey, sis.”

She smiled, her eyes starting to fill with tears. “Hey,” she replied, voice quivering. “I’m going to get you out of here, alright? I’m going to take you back home.”

“He has broken ribs,” one of the slaves told her. “I fear they’ve pierced his lungs. He needs healing before he goes anywhere.”

Biting her lower lip, she looked over her shoulder at the wrestling duo that was Thora and Urd. “Shit…Thora’s a _little_ busy at the moment…”

As she spoke, she watched as Thora flew backwards through the air. There was a loud crash as slammed into a stack of barrels, shattering them. Gallons upon gallons of mead doused her, almost drowning her as she tried to push herself upright. After a few seconds, she gave up and used her magic to send the barrels flying away from her. With a curse, she was finally able to push herself upright

Though her vision spun, she could see her ax just a few yards away. She started crawling for it despite her stomach churning and threatening to empty itself. Before she could reach it, Urd came over and kicked her, sending her rolling.

When she stopped rolling, Urd walked over and knelt over her. With one hand on Thora’s throat, she rested her knee on her chest, pinning her.

“You’re just like your mother,” she snarled, pulling her fist back. “Both of you care too much about humans and both of you died because _I_ was the better troll!” Her fist started flying towards Thora’s face. “You’re nothing more than a _pathetic_ half—”

Thora could do little more than clench her eyes shut and brace for impact; trying to keep herself from suffocating was taking all her concentration.

But the hit never came.

Instead, there was a dull thud. Opening an eye, Thora could see that Urd’s eyes had widened in shock. Her pupils grew large and her grip on Thora’s neck loosened. Urd’s other arm fell limp and she slumped over sideways. Brows furrowing in confusion, Thora stared at the now-dead Urd.

Her ax was buried in the back of Urd’s skull.

But Dagur and Heather were across the courtyard -who could have delivered _that_ hard of a blow? The slaves all looked underfed and weak…

Still confused, she watched as a foot was placed on half of Urd’s head and the ax removed with a disgusting squelching sound.

“It’s about time she shut up…”

Her eyes trailed up along the handle of the weapon, her breath catching in her throat as the familiar voice filled her ears. When she finally saw who held the ax, she could have sworn her heart stopped.

“I’m surprised you still have this. Dagur told me you had gone peaceful.” Cæna gave the ax a toss, watching it spin once in the air before he caught it again. Then, wearing one of his goofy-yet-handsome grins, he looked down at her. “Long time no see, my mead-drenched beauty.”

She blinked and blinked again before slowly pushing herself upright. “C-Cæna?” she whispered. “Is it really—? No… _No_ , you’re supposed t’ be _dead_!” Shakily, she rose to her feet and started walking towards him. “Ya were in the forest—it was burning. You were _in_ it and it was _burning!”_ She dared to reach out, convinced her hand would simply pass right through him as it had done so many times in her dreams.

But when her palm pressed against his cheek, she found him solid and warm and full of life.

Thora wasn’t sure if she should have felt relieved or frightened. “How? How did ya survive? Everything was burning!”

“Not _everything_ was burning. The veiðimenn who caught me weren’t burning,” he told her, his voice soft as he cupped her face in his hands. She looked so exhausted, so _worn_ ; he wondered what had happened to her since he had been gone. There was only so much Dagur could tell him, after all. He was certain she had suffered through plenty of things neither he nor Dagur knew about.

But as tired as they were, her eyes were still the forest-green he could stare into for hours.

“Gods, you’re just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”

Her jaw was shaking and tears soaked her cheeks. “N-No. This has t’ be s-some sort o’ illusion. Ya can’t be real. Ya _can’t_.”

“I promise you, I am,” he told her, voice soft and an apologetic smile on his lips. “And I’m not leaving you again. Not even the Æsir can make me leave you again.” Standing on his tiptoes, he gently pulled her down and kissed her.

Thora pulled back a few seconds later, a sob leaving her throat as she fell to her knees. “You’re _real_ ,” she choked out, her entire body shaking by now. “This isn’t a dream…this is _real_. You’re _real_!”

“Shh,” he whispered, cradling her. By now, his cheeks were wet with his own tears. “Shh, I’m here. I’ve got you. I love you.” He didn’t care at all that his clothes were becoming soaked with mead.

“I—I love-ve ya t-too,” she choked out, gripping the back of his shirt. “Oh go-gods, I’ve miss-ssed ya _so much_ …”

Kissing the top of her head, he smiled. “I missed you, too. More than you know.” He looked up as he saw a woman approaching them.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Heather said, a worried look on her face, “but Dagur needs help. _Now_.”

Thora wiped her eyes on her sleeve as she turned, looking at Heather. “Wha-what’s wrong?”

She had completely forgotten about Dagur…

“Broken ribs. They’ve punctured his lungs.”

Thora’s eyes shot open. Before either Heather or Cæna could react, she was on her feet and racing over to where Dagur lay. By the time they reached his side, she already had him enveloped in her soft blue light, her eyes shut in concentration. Dagur’s face was contorted in pain and he let out small hisses -Heather couldn’t blame him. Through his thin shirt, she could _see_ the bones of his ribs moving back into place.

“Almost there,” Thora murmured when Dagur started coughing. “I’m sorry. This is the worst part.”

“Why do you say that?” Heather questioned, watching as Thora rolled Dagur onto his side. She took notice of how Cæna was holding Dagur’s head; her brow rose ever so slightly.

“Because I’m forcin’ the blood out o’ his lungs,” she answered, eyes still shut. Her tail reached over, starting to gently rub Dagur’s back as he continued to cough. “It’s like when ya nearly drown an’ ya have t’ force the water out. It hurts and it’s gross.”

“No kidding,” wheezed Dagur. “It feels like my lungs have been ripped out through my throat!”

“I know,” Thora sighed. “I’m sorry. But bad things could happen if the blood stays in your lungs.”

“Can’t be any worse than tripping and falling into a barrel of tanning liquid,” Cæna said, earning a tired laugh from Dagur. “That’ll have you gagging an’ puking for _days_.”

Thora scrunched her nose. “I…don’t even want t’ know,” she said, opening her eyes. The light around Dagur faded and, slowly, he sat up with her and Cæna’s help. “How do ya feel, besides the hurtin’ lungs?”

“Beyond happy to see the two of you,” he replied shortly before trying to hug both her and Heather. His hands, however, were still bound behind his back. He frowned, struggling against the iron shackles. “I forgot about these,” he grumbled.

“Hold still.” Grabbing his arm, Cæna pulled something from his hair -a key. He used it to unlock the shackles, freeing Dagur’s wrists. As the redhead lunged forward, hugging both Heather and Thora, he chuckled.

Though she felt overwhelmed with joy, Thora pulled back and let Heather cling to her brother. Biting her tongue, she glanced between Dagur and Cæna. He and Dagur seemed to be friends; why else would Cæna have come over and helped hold Dagur’s head up? But she knew they could quickly become enemies now that she was back in their lives…

She was brought out of her thoughts as Dagur wrapped his arms around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. A curse of surprise was muffled against his lips; she couldn’t help but return the kiss, though.

She still loved him…but she also still loved Cæna…

“Sorry I pulled a Cæna,” he chuckled when they parted, “but by the time I was well again, I couldn’t get out of here.”

“But you’re free now!” Heather chirped, a large grin on her lips. “You’re free and that means we can take you back with us!”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Cæna looked around at the slaves. They were huddled together in a small group near the smithy door. “What about them, though? Now that Urd’s dead, they’ve nowhere to go.”

Thora looked over her shoulder, silently counting the slaves. There were less than twenty of them, all of varying ages. “We’ll take them with us,” she said. “Death can easily carry all o’ us.”

“Is that a good idea?” Heather asked, a small frown now coming to her face. “I mean, we’ll be heading to a _troll_ city…”

“Enda Fjarðarins welcomes humans,” Cæna told her.

“Not Enda Fjarðarins,” Thora sighed. The adrenaline and excitement were beginning to fade away, leaving her feeling tired and sore. “We came from Queen Ottalie’s home.”

His eyes widened. “Y—You were at the Troll Queen’s home?!” he gaped.

Dagur cocked a brow. “Wait, there’s a troll _queen_? I thought your mom was the troll queen?”

Thora shook her head. “My mother was a _chieftain_. There’s a queen who _technically_ rules over all o’ us. My brothers ‘n I were invited t’ her midsummer festival…which Heather an’ I mostly came along because we knew we’d be closer t’ Urd’s home.”

“Yeah. We _were_ going to leave tomorrow night, but Thora got word that we needed to leave _last_ night. So we did.” She then gave Dagur a dry look. “I have a feeling it’s because of whatever my brother did to get those shackles around his wrist.”

“No way!” Dagur and Cæna chorused.

“It was all Urd’s fault,” Dagur continued. “She got all huffy and upset with us for _no_ reason. She tried to squeeze the life out of Cæna, but I threw cumin in her face and cut off her tail to make her let go of him.”

Heather’s jaw dropped; Thora just stared at him.

“She was trying to _kill_ him!” he defended. “I wasn’t going to let that happen! And she couldn’t touch me at the time anyway -my necklace kept her from that- so I was sort of his—”

Thora suddenly held up her hand, silencing him. “The necklace _worked_?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No one around here, save for the slaves, could touch me.”

She let out a weary laugh. “Oh, thank _Freyr_ …I didn’t know if that spell would actually work or not when I made the thing for ya!”

Cæna cocked his head. “What kind of spell?”

“So long as he wears that necklace, he can’t be touched by any troll-blood-bearin’ creature that intends t’ harm him. I made it in case he ever met my brothers…”

The two men exchanged looks. “Would it work if another person wore it?” Dagur asked.

“O’ course. The magic’s in the pendant, not in you.”

“Good. Because I gave it to Cæna last night to keep him from being executed. It’s kind of a long story, really.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “WHAT!?”

Before they could answer, a whine came from behind Heather followed by an upset grunt. Heather sighed, half-heartedly glaring at Thora as Dagrun started crying.

“You woke the baby,” she said, her voice dry.

Thora sighed, her eyes closing for a few seconds. “Guess the spell wore off. C’mere, let me get her from ya…”

Dagur and Cæna looked at one another before looking at the two women. “There’s a baby?” they said in unison.

“Damn, sis. I thought you weren’t into guys?” Dagur chuckled, giving her a teasing nudge. “Who’s the lucky dad? Or was he just a one-night thing to donate some seed?” He snickered as he watched as Thora carefully unwrapped the squirming bundle from his sister’s back.

“You are,” she replied, her brow rising.

He stared at her in horror. “What?!” Cæna looked at him in disgust. “I’d never sleep with my sister! That’s just wrong!”

Shaking her head, Heather rolled her eyes. “You must’ve lost a _lot_ of blood,” she sighed. “The baby isn’t _mine_ , Dagur.”

“…She’s mine,” Thora said, her voice quiet as she gently rocked Dagrun. The child squirmed, still whining thanks to being so rudely awakened. She calmed somewhat, however, when she saw her mother’s face.

Dagur froze. “Wh-what…?”

“I thought you couldn’t…?” Cæna murmured, his eyes wide as well.

“I unknowingly had divine help,” she quietly explained. Her cheeks were dark and she sounded almost ashamed; she also refused to look at any of them. “I…I was goin’ t’ tell Dagur the day—the day he ‘died’, but I never got the chance.”

Swallowing hard, Dagur rubbed the back of his neck. “So—So I’m really a dad, then?”

Thora nodded. She swallowed hard, wondering what Cæna thought of her now that he knew she had had another man’s child.

Scooting a bit closer to her, Dagur gently nudged her. “…Well, are you going to let me hold her?” he asked, eyes filled with curiosity.

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at how strangely innocent he looked. “Do ya even know how t’ hold a baby?”

“Of course I do!” He puffed out his chest in pride. “What kind of chieftain would I be if I didn’t know how to hold babies so I could give them my blessing, eh?” He held out his hands. “Let me see—her, you said, right?”

“Aye, ‘her’.” She carefully handed Dagrun over, helping position Dagur’s arm a bit better. “Her name’s Dagrun…after you, o’ course.”

Dagur looked down at the child, grinning as he saw her wild, ginger hair. “Yep…definitely mine,” he chuckled, his eyes beginning to sting.

Dagrun stared up at him with wide, green eyes as she gummed on her chubby fist. Dagur counted five fingers, though he could see her ears were pointed and tufted like Thora’s.

“She’s a perfect blend of the two of us.” Carefully, he ran the back of his finger against her cheek. “Hey there, sweet lil’ Dagrun,” he told her, voice quiet. “I’m your daddy. Sorry I wasn’t around sooner, but there was a big, nasty hag holding me and daddy number two hostage.”

“Daddy number two?” Heather repeated, her brow rising. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She looked at Thora, finding her just as confused.

Dagur’s cheeks were soaked as he looked up, using his head to motion at Cæna. “I mean _him_. Cæna. He’s daddy number two.” He glanced at Thora, a small, teasing grin on his lips. “You were right: that goofy smile of his is just too damned handsome to resist.”


	57. 57

“You deliberately disobeyed my orders!”

“Aye, I did. An’ I’m not the least bit sorry!”

“You could have been killed! _Dagrun_ could have been killed!”

“And if I hadn’t gone, then Dagur _would_ have been killed!” She ran a hand through her hair, cursing. “Do you honestly think I didn’t coat Death, Dagrun, and Heather in protection spells? Even _Urd_ wouldn’t have been able to get through them all in time to stop them from escaping!”

“It was _foolish_ and it was _dangerous_! What if Urd _had_ gotten through all those spells? What then? You’d _all_ be dead!”

“I’m damned certain Freya an’ Freyr wouldn’t let that happen. Not after everything they’ve done to help me.”

Ulfr stared down at Thora, exhaling quite angrily through his nose. She returned the look, her hand on her hip and her eyes unblinking as she stared up at him. He hated that she was right, but he also hated that she had put not only herself, but her _child_ , at risk.

But he especially hated how much like their mother she now looked.

“Ugh, it’s like watching mother and Sindri fight, only mother is the tiny one…” Ormr sighed from across the room, rolling his eyes.

“True,” Sindri agreed, braiding some gold rings into his hair. “Little Sister even has the same angry face as mother did. I’m surprised Ulfr isn’t quaking in fear at it!” He let out a hearty laugh.

Ulfr pouted, glaring at them. “I’m _trying_ to _scold_ Little Sister for her foolishness and you two are sitting there, mocking me!?”

“Yes,” his brothers chorused.

Ormr set down the silver chain he had been fiddling with. “Ulfr, you _knew_ she was going to try to go to Urd’s fortress,” he sighed. “If you really hadn’t wanted her to go, then why didn’t you place wards and spells on her?”

Ulfr growled, pointing accusingly at him. “ _You_ know as well as I that Little Sister is supposed to be an _adult_ who makes _good_ decisions! I shouldn’t have to put wards and spells on her!”

“She’s _our_ sister. Wards and spells are the only things that’ll stop her once she sets her mind to something,” Ormr reminded him. “Or do I need to remind you of how you disobeyed _mother’s_ orders and snuck out to challenge Eric the Eviscerator on your own and came back with one working eye and his head hanging from your belt?”

“Or the time you got _married_ without telling mother because she didn’t particularly _like_ Dandelion’s entire tribe?” Sindri added. “Huh. Thinking about it, you and Little Sister are eerily alike in those regards…”

Ulfr’s cheeks went dark with embarrassment. “But I never put my _children_ in harm’s way!”

“Neither did Little Sister,” Ormr said, rolling his eyes. “You know _damn well_ that she’s the best out of all of us with protective magics. Even _you_ admitted that and you’ve got the strongest magic of all of us.”

Thora crossed her arm over her chest. “See? Ormr and Sindri understand!”

Ulfr buried his face in his palm, letting out another heavy sigh. “I was scared, alright?” he finally admitted. “When you told me who had Dagur, I saw mother’s death happening all over again. Urd may not have dealt the killing blow herself, but she had been the one who _sent_ the men to kill mother. And you’re so much like mother…” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to lose you, too. I didn’t care if she had your husband. So long as you stayed far away from her, you were safe.”

He tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling as he let out a defeated curse. “But…I will admit it seems to have been worth the risk. You have Dagur _and_ Cæna back. Dagrun gets two fathers for the price of one.” He blinked, looking down in surprise as Thora hugged him.

“You are a selfish oaf,” she told him, giving him a squeeze, “but I understand your reasoning.” Pulling back, she looked up at him with a tired smile. “But I’m a selfish oaf, too, and you _know_ I’m not about to let _any_ of my loved ones be enslaved for the rest of their lives.”

Ulfr chuckled, mussing her hair. “We’re trolls; of _course_ we’re selfish oafs. Not all treasures are silver and gold, but we seem to collect them regardless.” He cocked his head, his ear twitching ever so slightly. “Come in!” he called, facing the door.

It opened and a smallish troll poked their head in. “The queen would like to speak with Lady Thora,” they said. Seeing Sindri and Ormr starting to stir, they quickly added, “Alone, please.”

The three brothers glanced at one another, each wearing a look of concern. Thora, however, had been expecting to be called before the queen; in fact, she was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Then again, being presented the head of one of your greatest enemies during your midday meal could leave one rather stupefied.

“I’ll see you three later,” she told her brothers.

Ormr gave her a small wave with his hand while Ulfr and Sindri used their tails. All three still looked worried.

Following the troll out of the room, Thora ran a hand over her hair. “So…what sort of mood is the queen in?” she asked when they had reached the end of the hall. Though she looked calm, she felt quite nervous. Despite having spoken with Ottalie the previous day, she was still nervous at the thought of being around such a powerful person.

“Baffled,” they replied. “Baffled and concerned.”

She nodded in understanding. “I don’t much blame her.” She then let out a tired laugh. Her ear twitched slightly as they started down another hallway. In the distance, she could hear laughing and splashing: Dagur and Cæna. They were taking a much-needed bath. Elsewhere, she was able to hear Heather singing to Dagrun, trying to get her to go back to sleep.

Coming out of her thoughts, she realized that she wasn’t being led to the Great Hall. Instead, she was being led down a particularly quiet hallway; at the end of it was a plain-look set of double doors.

“Er…Where are we going?” she asked, beginning to worry if the doors led down into the dungeons.

“Queen Ottalie’s chambers,” they answered. “She is readying herself for the festival tonight.”

Thora felt her cheeks grow dark and the shock of being taken to the queen’s _private_ chambers left her too shocked to speak in the native tongue. “O-oh…I didn’t think she’d want t’ talk t’ someone while readyin’ herself…” She bit her tongue only to instantly regret it; she could taste blood. ‘Been awhile since I’ve done that,’ she thought, her nose scrunching up ever so slightly.

“She would like to keep the conversation private,” the troll explained, continuing in their native tongue. As they reached the end of the hall, they knocked on one of the doors.

They heard Ottalie reply barely a second later. “Come in, Lady Thora. Please don’t mind the mess.”

Doing as instructed, Thora entered the room. She had to pause when she closed the door, however: As the doors clicked shut, she could hear _nothing_ beyond them. All was quiet, save for the sounds of Ottalie combing her hair.

Ottalie, herself, took her by surprise as well. She wore none of her expensive jewelry or an expensive dress. Instead, she was clad in a simple, stone-grey dress and not a bit of jewelry. As Thora stepped in, she smiled and beckoned for her to take a seat.

“You have no need to worry,” she assured Thora, watching her sit. Once again, the words Thora heard were not the words Ottalie spoke; a language spell. “You’re not in any trouble. I would merely like to ask you a few things.”

Thora slowly nodded, having to hop slightly in order to get into the seat of the chair. She wasn’t sure if using magic on the queen’s furniture to create steps would be rude or not. “I’ll answer t’ the best o’ my ability, my queen.” She knew her voice betrayed her timidity.

At that, Ottalie waved her comb at her in a dismissive fashion. “Please, just call me Ottalie. I’m only a queen because of my late husband.” She then went back to combing.

“If ya insist.”

“My first question for you, if you don’t mind, is how did you come by your mother’s spearhead?” She glanced over at Thora, a curious look in her eyes as she worked at untangling a knot. “I _saw_ her buried with it and her tomb is not an easy one to break into.”

Rubbing the back of her neck, Thora did her best to maintain eye contact. “Er, well…She gave it t’ me,” she started. “I had gone t’ Freyr t’ try an’ find a way t’ defeat Urd, but he instead took me t’ Fólkvangr…an’ I got t’ meet my mother there.”

Ottalie nodded slowly, though her brows were now furrowed. “You were taken to Freya’s hall…? Interesting. Though, I’m surprised you were able to bring something from the realm of gods back with you to Midgard.”

“I honestly don’t know how I did it,” she said. “I just woke up an’ there it was, in my hand. I think Freyr or Freya had somethin’ t’ do with it.”

Again, she nodded. “I’m sure they did,” she chuckled. “From what Ormr has told me, Freyr’s rather fond of you and you of him.”

“Until recently, it always felt like he was the only one o’ the gods who _didn’t_ hate me. I haven’t exactly devoted myself t’ him, but he’s definitely the one I go t’ whenever I need divine help.”

“As he is the god of love, prosperity, and fair weather, I can see why.” Finishing with her comb, she set it aside and began to separate her hair into three sections. “Onto my second question: How did you know where to find Urd? I have searched decades for her fortress, but to no avail.”

“My mother. She…she told me how t’ kill Urd, too. She gave me an entire plan, but last night, things apparently went wrong and the plan changed. Skaði came to me and told me that Heather an’ I had t’ leave earlier than planned.” She shifted somewhat, wrapping her tail around her waist to keep it from nervously twitching back and forth. “I’m sorry, by the way. For suddenly bringing a group of people into your city, I mean.”

“You saved them from a fate worse than death,” she told her, her voice gentle. “I hold no ill will against you for such a thing, especially when you could have simply left them there. When the festival is over and they’ve had time to rest, I will have some of my warriors escort them to the nearest human settlement.”

Thora nodded, glad to hear that Ottalie wasn’t upset over that.

“My final question for you,” she said, finishing her braid, “is why did you take your daughter with you?” Holding the end of her braid with her tail, she grabbed a length of ribbon and tied her hair off. “She could have been badly hurt.”

She let out a small sigh; she should have known _that_ would be brought up. “I brought her with me because I had t’. My brothers couldn’t watch after her, since they were unconscious an’, no offense my qu—Ottalie—but I don’t really know anyone here well enough t’ leave her in the care of. But I assure ya, I put the strongest o’ protection magics on her before we got there.”

Ottalie said nothing as she stood and crossed the room. She used her tail to open a chest and then rummage through it. Thora was beginning to wonder if the interrogation was over when Ottalie turned back around, her tail holding a plain, white cloak.

“If you do not mind,” she said, laying the cloak out on her bed, “I would like to test the strength of those magics.”

Thora blinked, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Er…how?” She then let out a small yelp, just barely catching an empty clay cup as Ottalie tossed it to her.

“Put the same magic you put on your daughter onto that cup,” she instructed. “Afterwards, I will test the magic’s strength both physically _and_ magically.”

Nodding slowly, Thora closed her eyes. Ottalie watched as blue light surrounded both her and the cup. After a few minutes, the light around Thora began to pulse, though it remained steady around the cup. She could also see Thora’s mouth slightly moving, but she could hear no words being said.

After nearly ten minutes, the light around Thora and the cup faded away. Thora held it out to Ottalie, who took it back with her tail.

“Hm. While I know otherwise, it doesn’t _feel_ like it has much magic in it,” she commented, looking it over.

“Ya don’t always want people t’ know you’ve got magic on ya,” Thora said, cheeks red. “Ulfr taught me how t’ disguise it.”

Ottalie laughed. “I should have known as much! He’s rather clever with his use of magic like that.” Still chuckling, she stood up only to slam the cup as hard as she could onto the stone floor.

Though it made a loud clattering sound, it didn’t so much as chip. The floor, however, now had a small chunk missing from it. Both women watched as the cup bounced its way across the room before rolling under a table.

‘Damn,’ Thora thought, eyes wide. ‘How strong do you have to be in order to break rock with _clay_?’

“Your daughter would have most _definitely_ been safe from anyone trying to bodily harm her,” Ottalie smiled, retrieving the cup. “But now, for the test of magic…”

Thora bit her tongue again, watching as yellow light surrounded the cup. She wasn’t sure how well it would hold up to the queen’s magic; after all, she was one of the most powerful magic users among troll kind. Ulfr wasn’t even _half_ as powerful as her.

She winced when she saw a crack beginning to form near the rim of the cup. That couldn’t be a good thing -she didn’t know how much or what sort of magic Ottalie was using on it. As the cup burst into thousands of pieces, she flinched and cursed.

But Ottalie wore a pleasantly surprised smile as she clapped. “I’m impressed,” she admitted. “It took me quite the effort to get that to break!”

Yet again, she felt her cheeks grow dark. “It—It did?” she asked sheepishly.

Ottalie nodded, her yellow magic flowing down and gathering up the shards of shattered clay. “You have some of the strongest protection magics I’ve ever witnessed,” she told her. “I’m not entirely surprised, to be honest. Aside from a handful of trolls, myself included, only your mother’s magic could compare.” Her smile turned a bit playful. “Further proof that you are her daughter, no?” A knowing look then came to her eyes. “I assume you hadn’t put the protection on yourself?”

She innocently grinned. “I…didn’t think _I’d_ need it.”

“Further proof that you are, indeed, Greta’s daughter,” she chuckled. “Now that I’m wholly convinced you hadn’t put your daughter in harm’s way, I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’d like to go spend some time with your lovers before the festival begins.”

Thora blinked, a bit surprised. “Wait…that’s all ya wanted t’ know?” she questioned.

“Mhm. I said I only wished to ask you a few things,” she chuckled. “Why? Did you think, perhaps, I was going to punish you for acting recklessly?” She gave Thora a knowing look once more, watching as she slid out of the chair. “Even if I felt that you _deserved_ some sort of punishment, it would not be my place to dole it out -yes, even though I’m queen. That sort of thing is best left to family, as the sting of punishment coming from a loved one leaves a longer-lasting impression. But, even Ulfr should understand that, sometimes, a person is willing to risk everything for love.”

She rested her tail on the back of Thora’s shoulders, guiding her towards the door. “Your risk just so happened to have paid off -and in more ways than you could have thought. My people now have one less enemy to worry about and those slaves you rescued can look forward to a better life.” Opening the door, she gave Thora a gentle, almost motherly, look. “I do not suggest making a habit of it, though. You know well the sorrows of growing up without a mother. I would imagine you wouldn’t want your daughter to know them as well.”

A small, tired laugh left Thora’s mouth. “Now that I have Dagur an’ Cæna back, I don’t plan on gettin’ myself into anymore messes.”

“Good. Now, go get yourself some rest. I will see you and your family tonight.”

Bidding the queen goodbye, Thora started to head back towards her quarters. The closer she got to her room, however, the slower her paces became. She suddenly felt _exhausted_.

‘Gee, I wonder if it’s because I’ve gone without sleep and have used vast quantities of magic in the last day and a half?’ she mockingly thought. ‘But it was worth it…’

When she finally reached her room, she stopped just outside the door. Inside, she could just barely hear the familiar, quiet breathing of a sleeping Dagrun. Slowly and quietly, she turned the door handle until the door swung open silently. Heather was sitting on her bed, attempting to tie the laces of her tunic in the fashion Thora had shown her. She looked up, startled, when blue light enveloped her chest.

“Boo,” Thora said, voice quiet.

“Hey.” She looked back down, watching as the laces crissed and crossed themselves. “Dagrun went down about half an hour ago. Thanks, by the way.”

“It’s no trouble. An’ alright. She’ll be out for at least two more hours then.” Running a hand over her hair, she let out a quiet sigh and went over to her bed.

“You sound like you could do with a nap, too,” Heather commented. “Why don’t you take one?”

Climbing onto the bed, Thora used her tail to cover her mouth as she yawned. “I think I just may do that. But at the same time…” A small frown came to her lips.

She looked at her with a knowing smile. “You want to be with your lover-boys,” she finished. “I’m sure they won’t throw _much_ of a tantrum if their heroine chooses a nap over snuggling them.” A quiet laugh left her mouth as she watched her friend roll her eyes. “In all seriousness, _take a nap_. If they truly love you, they’ll prioritize your health over their need for cuddles.”

Chuckling, Thora rolled her eyes. “One would _hope_. Thankfully, those two aren’t much like the males back on Berk…”

“Too true. Anyway. I’m going to go check on Windshear. If I see Dagur and…Cæna, right?” Thora nodded. “Then I’ll let them know that you’re napping.”

“Thank ya.”

As Heather left the room, Thora rolled over and buried her face into the pillow. She sighed as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she knew some hours had passed; the room was darker, though a bit of natural light remained.

‘Slept longer than I thought I would,’ she thought, yawning. She started to push herself upright only to realize that something -no, some _one_ \- was keeping her partially pinned to the bed. Her brow rising, she looked down only to find Cæna’s sleeping form curled up beside her. Behind her was Dagur, his arm flung haphazardly over her as he snored.

A small smile came to her lips; she suddenly found herself loathe to move. But she then frowned. Even if she _wanted_ to move -which she sort of did, as her side was aching- she couldn’t thanks to her lack of arm. Unless she wanted to squish Dagur or Cæna…

“Everything alright, beautiful?”

Looking down once again, she saw Cæna looking up at her through half-lidded eyes. “Did I wake ya?”

“No. I haven’t been able to fall asleep.” He scooted up and ran his hand along her jaw before cupping her cheek. As he kissed her, he slipped his other around underneath her, pulling her against him.

Thora felt her eyes beginning to sting as she kissed him in return. “I still can’t believe you’re real,” she whispered when they parted.

“I’m as real as you are,” he chuckled, brushing some stray hairs from her forehead. “Though, I’ve got to admit, I’m having a hard time believing _you’re_ real.”

She brushed her fingers against his cheek before slowly tracing the scar that led down and through his left eye. “How…?”

“It was almost my whole head,” he admitted, his smile turning guilty. “A sword. From one of the slavers who caught me on my way back to Enda Fjarðarins.”

“Can ya still see?” She had a feeling she knew the answer, since the eye was milky white in color now.

He shook his head. “No. But that’s fine. I can still forge things and appraise things.”

Thora nodded slowly understanding. “An’ fight, too, apparently.”

“That…wasn’t very hard, to be honest. Urd was hard to miss.” Tilting his head back, he kissed her chin. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve missed ya, too.” She wrapped her arm around him a bit tighter, sighing quietly. “An’ I still love ya. Vanir above know I still love ya…but I also love Dagur…”

Cæna let out a small laugh. “I know. I love him, too. Just as much as I love _you_.”

She used her tail to rub the back of her neck. “So—so this means all o’ us can…?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes. We’ll _all_ be together.” He smiled reassuring up at her. “Anyway, once that cute lil’ daughter of yours starts crawling, you’ll need the extra pair of hands to help catch her.”

“Ya…don’t mind that she’s not yours?”

Cæna cocked a brow, his head tilting slightly. “Thora, I’m not going to be mad at you for continuing your life while I was gone. To you, I was dead. There was no way for you to know I was actually alive.” He cupped her face once more. “I’m _proud_ of you for going on. If you hadn’t…I probably would still be Urd’s slave and you wouldn’t have had that little miracle over there.” Using his thumb, he wiped away a tear as it slipped from her eye. “And you never know…maybe _we’ll_ have our own little miracle someday?”

She swallowed a sob and nodded, a smile on her lips. “That’d be wonderful.” Something plopped down on her shoulder, startling her. Turning her head, she saw Dagur resting his chin on her, his eyes still shut.

“What’re you two whispering about?” he mumbled, very obviously still half asleep.

“Us,” Cæna smiled, his brow still raised. “If you learned how to eavesdrop better, you would have known that.”

Dagur pouted. “ _Very_ funny,” he told him. “Your voices were muffled thanks to Thora’s braids.”

“Your fault for usin’ them for a pillow,” Thora chuckled, twisting herself around enough to see him.

Still wearing the pout, he chose to ignore her words. “So, in all honesty, what were you two talking about? Whatever it was, it made Thora start crying.”

“We were talking about us,” Cæna repeated. “I was telling her that I’m glad she managed to move on after she thought I was dead and how we may try for our own child in the future.”

He nodded in understanding. “Ahh…I thought you may have been talking about how devilishly handsome I am or what an amazing family we’re going to be.”

“Well, you were close with the latter guess,” Cæna chuckled.

“We’re going to be the _best_ family,” Dagur said, covering his mouth as he yawned. “We’ll need to make a larger bed, of course, and we’re going to have to decide whether we’re going to live on Berk or on Berserk—”

Thora used her tail to cover his mouth, silencing him. “Let’s…let’s just think about the present, aye? I’m still not quite over the fact that Cæna’s alive an’ that neither o’ ya have decided t’ scream at me about Dagrun.”

“Why would we be upset about Dagrun?” he questioned, frowning. “She’s just a baby—an adorable one at that. And that’s high praise coming from me. I’ve seen a _lot_ of ugly babies in my life.”

Thora rolled her eyes. “I would hope ya thought she was adorable. She is _yours_ after all.”

He grinned cheekily. “Between your gorgeous self and my handsome looks, she’s going to grow up to be the heartthrob of our tribes!”

“Speakin’ o’ Dagrun, I need to go check on her,” Thora told him, managing to push herself upright. “She had just gone down for her nap went I came in for a nap…I was expectin’ t’ hear her gruntin’ or something by now.”

“Oh. Sindri came and got her,” Cæna told her. “She was getting fussy, but we didn’t want to wake you. So, he scooped her up before Dagur or I could get to her and just…wandered off with her.”

She rolled her eyes. “That sounds like Sindri alright,” she chuckled. Closing her eyes, she let herself flop back down between him and Dagur. “My brothers haven’t wanted to put her down…”

“Well, that’s good,” Dagur chuckled. “Though, I’ll have to steal her from them at some point. It’d be nice to, you know, get to know my daughter…”

“Good luck with that. I can barely get her back from them sometimes an’ I’m her _mother_.”


	58. 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter after this!

#  Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

The festival lasted nearly four days with no lulls in activity.

With three large bonfires to dance around, a seemingly endless supply of food and drink, and instruments that played by themselves, those in attendance found themselves not wanting to leave, even when they were beyond exhausted. But their absence was short-lived; after a good four-or-five-hour nap, they were back to dancing and eating.

Daytime was quieter than evening, with less dancing and more games. A handful of weddings were even performed with blessings given by Ottalie to the newlyweds. Dagur had tried convincing Thora and Cæna to get married as well, but both agreed they would rather wait until Trader Johann knew of his nephew’s alive state.

Sindri, so drunk he could barely walk, had _almost_ gotten himself married to an equally-drunk lesovik. If Ormr hadn’t literally plucked his brother up and thrown him into the nearest body of water, Thora would have had herself a brother-in-law.

Though he was disappointed that Thora and Cæna weren’t getting married _just_ yet, Dagur did find himself pleased when, on the third day of the festival, he noticed that Heather was joining in with the ax games. Watching her was a beautiful woman with snow-white skin and sky-blue hair. He had seen this woman dancing with Heather a few times over the course of the last few days and, as Heather threw her final ax for the winning shot, he could see that the woman was impressed with his sister. He then saw Heather glance over at the women, her cheeks turning red as she shyly smiled.

‘Ooh! Looks like Heather’s finally getting over Astrid,’ he thought, grinning. ‘And this time, it looks to be reciprocated! Good! My sister deserves a gorgeous woman on her arm…’

He came out of his thoughts as someone kissed his cheek. Looking up, he watched as both Cæna and Thora sat down at the table with him. Strapped to the front of Thora’s chest was Dagrun, her eyes wide as she looked around. She was gumming on one of her toys, her little feet kicking once in a while.

“There’re my beauties,” he chuckled. Reaching across the table, he scooped Dagrun from her harness, earning a small grunt from her. “Let’s stretch your legs a bit, eh? Mommy keeps you cooped up in that sling too much!”

Thora cocked her brow, smiling tiredly. “She can’t even crawl yet, Dagur. Once she’s learned t’ walk, I’ll have a lil’ rope tied t’ her so she can toddle about.”

Cæna snorted at that as he slid a plate of food across the table to Thora. He put a second one in front of Dagur and kept the third for himself. “She’s not a sheep, Thora. She’s a child!”

“It’s what my da’ did with me,” she shrugged. “Kept me out o’ trouble until I got a mind o’ my own.”

Dagur rolled his eyes, but grinned, as he held Dagrun up. “And he’s regretted it ever since, I’m guessing?”

“T’ say the least!” She smiled, watching as Dagur leaned over, brushing his nose against Dagrun’s. She let out a giggle and, dropping her toy, instead ‘patted’ her father’s face. He scrunched his face up in disgust, making her giggle harder and urging her to keep smacking him.

“Aha! Now it’s _your_ turn for drooly slaps!” Cæna snickered. Dagrun had done much the same thing to him earlier in the day. “A lot grosser than you thought it would be, huh?”

Dagur pouted. “Yeah…It wouldn’t be so bad if her drool wasn’t so… _drool-like_.”

“Get used t’ it,” Thora chuckled, plucking up a chunk of roasted chicken, “because there are things a _lot_ grosser that come out o’ her, trust me.”

“Oh, we know.” Pulling back from Dagrun, Dagur let her grab onto his index fingers. Though she wobbled a bit, she was able to keep herself standing upright with his help. “I spent a good portion of yesterday teaching Cæna how to properly change a diaper while you were sleeping. I always forget how… _liquidy_ baby poops are.”

Cæna fed Dagur a bite of a buttered biscuit. “I’m sure once she starts eating more solid foods, it’ll be less runny.”

Nodding as she chewed on the chicken, Thora used her tail to point at him. “He’s right,” she said after swallowing. “I was actually startin’ t’ wean her before this, but things got a wee bit chaotic an’ she got colic, so I’m waitin’ t’ get back t’ the archipelago. But solid foods are what’s going t’ make her bum even stinkier, trust me.”

As if understanding her mother, Dagrun let out a proud ‘bah!’ and tried to kick her legs. Thankfully, she still held onto Dagur’s fingers, so instead of falling flat on her bum, she was lifted into the air.

“Careful, little one,” Dagur told her, scooping her up properly now. “Don’t want you hurting yourself in your excitement.”

“Are you going to be the dad who’s over-protective of his children?” Cæna teased before eating some biscuit himself.

“That’ll be interesting, what with his penchant for throwin’ himself in trouble’s path.” Thora grinned teasingly as Dagur pouted at her. “Ya know it’s true. How many scars have ya earned yourself over the years, hm?”

“Thirty-three,” Cæna said. As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened and he turned bright red.

Dagur and Thora stared at him in shock, though it was Thora who first spoke.

“Last I counted, it was twenty-nine.” She smiled sweetly, picking up more chicken. “You’ll have t’ show me the new ones later.”

Cæna let out a small, partly relieved laugh. “Sure thing—but only if your brothers or Heather watch Dagrun.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Dagur, I have to tell you something.”

Looking up from his bowl of stew, Dagur watched as Heather sat down across from him, her hands holding her own bowl of stew.

“Sure, sis, anything,” he told her before shoving a spoonful of stew in his mouth. Around them was quiet -an almost unfamiliar sound after the four days of revelry.

Nervously licking her lips, Heather began poking around her bowl with her spoon. “So…when you ‘died’, that made me chieftain, right?” She glanced up, watching as he nodded.

“You were already chieftain,” he told her through a mouthful of food. “We were _both_ chieftains.”

“Yeah, well, that made me _solo_ chieftain.” She took a small sip of the thick broth.

Once again, Dagur nodded.

“Well, I made a—an extremely important decision regarding the position of being chieftain,” she sighed. “I—” She watched as her brother continued to eat; she wanted to eat, but her stomach felt full of lead. “I made Fylkir chieftain instead.”

Dagur’s eyes widened and he coughed as he choked on his meal. “You _what_?!” he wheezed, smacking himself in the chest with a fist.

Heather shrank back, avoiding eye contact with him. She licked her lips once more. “I made Fylkir chieftain,” she repeated. “It made the most sense to me. I—I wasn’t going to be on Berserk long enough to actually attend to the duties presented to me as a leader. Not when I would be out looking for Dad…and, as it turned out, you. Hel, _this_ is the longest I’ve stayed in one place for the last two years.”

He continued to stare at her with wide eyes. “But…sis, you can’t just _give away_ the title of chieftain! It’s something you have to earn through hard work, dedication, and blood!”

“And I think Fylkir has done just that,” she retorted. “He was your second-in-command! Everyone already respected him and he had proved his skills with diplomacy when he went to Berk to offer his blessings and a gift to Thora when Dagrun was born.” She shrugged, poking at a carrot. “I just—I just thought Berserk deserved better.”

Dagur buried his face in his hands. He could feel the anger boiling up inside him, but he wouldn’t let it loose. No. He was done letting his anger control him; it had already hurt too many people.

But Heather had just given away their family’s _legacy!_ How could he _not_ be mad!?

For a long while, there was silence between the siblings. Dagur focused his energy into breathing in through his nose and exhaling, slowly, through his mouth. Heather forced herself to eat a couple of bites of stew.

Finally, after nearly a quarter of an hour, Dagur moved. Leaning back, he rested his hands atop the table and let out a heavy sigh; Heather could see ten small lines across his forehead and cheeks from where his nails had dug into his flesh. She forced herself to look him in the eye.

“I know you’re-” she started, but he interrupted.

“Yes, I’m upset,” he said, “but…but you did what _you_ thought was best for our _people_. Not just for yourself. And…and you were right.” He ran a hand over his head, his eyes closing. “The last six or so years have been crazy—to say the least. I’ve been away from home so often, they probably stopped thinking of me as their chieftain a long while ago.”

She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sure if you asked, Fylkir would be more than willing to return the title.”

He shook his head. “No. No, he can keep it. He _should_ keep it.” He then took her by surprise by letting out an honest laugh. “Truthfully? He’s probably been a better chieftain than I ever could be.” Opening his eyes once more, he gave his sister a small smile. “I would like to collect a few of my things from Berserk, though, if he hasn’t thrown them out.”

She cocked her head. “You’re…not going to stay on the island?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll go live with Thora and Cæna on Berk.” He shrugged, resting both forearms on the table and starting to dig into his stew again. “That’s _probably_ what I’ll do, to be honest. Thora loves her friends and her family. I don’t want to take that from her—even if it means having to prove to the whole of Berk that I’ve changed.”

“Death has a way of doing that to a person,” Heather chuckled.

“That it does,” he smiled. Then, glancing up at her, he took her by surprise. “But what about you?”

She blinked, her spoon stopping halfway to her mouth. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“What about you? Are you going to keep looking for dad? Or are you going to give up the search and stay in one place for a while?”

“Oh. Uh—I haven’t really figured that out yet. A lot has happened in the last few months…”

He laughed again before searching his bowl for a piece of meat. “That’s putting it lightly.”

She smiled, finally feeling the weight in her stomach dissipate. “Yeah, it is.” Scooping up a carrot, she shoved it in her mouth and started to chew. “So, tell me more about this Cæna guy. Thora’s mentioned him a few times, but I only know that he was supposed to be dead, too.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Dagur lightly scolded. “And, yes, Thora thought him dead, too. There was no trace of him after the battle she lost her arm in, so everyone thought he had perished in the forest fire. Turns out, he was captured by the losing side and sent to a prison in Macedonia.”

“And how did he end up as a slave in the far north?”

He shrugged, chewing a bite. “Something about getting help escaping the Macedonian jail,” he said after swallowing, “but getting caught when he was about fifty miles southeast of Enda Fjarðarins? He never really went into full detail about it and I never pressed him. It seemed like something he didn’t want to talk about.”

She nodded in understanding. “But…he’s a decent guy, right? I mean, he must if Thora’s practically clinging to him.”

“Oh, he’s a wonderful guy,” he chuckled. “To put it simply, he’s a sweetheart. But…” He frowned slightly as he looked down into his bowl. “He’s definitely been to Helheim and back. He was Urd’s favorite when it came to taking out her aggressions. I…didn’t help much with that.” He let out a heavy sigh before shaking his head. “But, now that we’re free, things are going to be better. He’s probably already dreaming of all the things he’s going to make once he gets back in a proper smithy.”

“He’s a blacksmith?”

“And a damned good one at that!” He grinned proudly. “He’d put Thora’s dad—er, Jobber?”

“ _Gobber_.” She gave him a bland look, making him smile sheepishly.

“He’d give _Gobber_ a run for his gold,” he said.

“Can’t even remember your own father-in-law’s name,” she teased, feigning a tone of disproval. “It’s a wonder you’ve remembered Thora and Cæna’s…”

He pouted. “Hey now, I’ve only met the guy a handful of times! And I got it _mostly_ right. ‘Jobber’ is close enough to ‘Gobber’ that I think it’d slip by unnoticed.”

“Yeah, if you were talking to a _deaf_ person.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Her name is Tuulikki.” There was a bashful smile on Heather’s face as she glanced over at the Laumè, whose own smile was content and happy. “I invited her to come see the Barbaric Archipelago. She’s never left the mainland before.”

“At least on foot,” Tuulikki smiled, her voice soft. “I’ve left it many times by air, but I have never traveled farther west than Enda Fjarðarins.”

“You’ve gone east, then? Into Lapland?” Cæna asked, his head cocked to the side. He had seen Laumès before, but never one so close. They didn’t usually come down to the land, let alone to be among humans.

“Further,” she replied. “I have seen the shores of a vast, icy ocean in the land where the sun rises. But I have never seen the land where the sun sets.”

Heather let out a small laugh. “We won’t be going _quite_ that far,” she told her. “But, come winter, it’ll seem like it. Though, I think the long, dreary winters are worse up here…”

Tuulikki smiled fondly at her and, saying nothing, took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Our winters aren’t too bad,” Dagur chuckled, watching Heather’s cheeks turn bright red. He badly wanted to tease her, but resisted the urge. “Especially when you’re snuggled up next to someone with a nice, warm blanket and a hot mug of mulled wine.”

“That sounds rather pleasant,” she said, tilting her head somewhat. “Though, I have never had mulled wine. Is it like cider?”

Cæna wiggled his hand in a ‘sort of’ fashion. “It’s made from berries instead of apples,” he explained, “and it’s got a…warmer? taste to it because of the spice thrown into it.”

“It sounds quite interesting.” Tuulikki smiled again as she looked at Heather. “I cannot wait to try this ‘mulled wine’!”

Heather’s cheeks stayed dark as she smiled shyly. “Well, winter is still quite a way off…I mean, Midsummer was _just_ six days ago.”

“That is true,” Dagur agreed, “but it never hurts to get prepared early. Especially since you and I have to find new homes.”

Cocking a brow, Cæna gave him a small nudge. “We’re staying with Thora, remember?”

“Yeah, but she also said her house isn’t quite big enough for the four of us, since it was just her and Dagrun for so long.”

“I thought she said that it would work until she was able to magic it bigger?”

Heather shook her head, smiling. “Sounds like you two need to go talk with her and get things figured out,” she told them. “It’d be a good idea to have that sort of thing worked out _before_ we head back home.”

Both men wore guilty smiles. “True,” said Dagur.

“It’ll only be a few days until we’re back in Enda Fjarðarins, so yeah…that’s a good idea,” Cæna agreed. He wrapped his arm around Dagur’s shoulders. “We’ll see the two of you later!” He and Dagur both waved before heading off.

“They complement each other well,” Tuulikki commented, her head tilted to the side as she watched them leave. “I can see why Lady Gretasdotter is fond of them.”

Heather raised her brow. “Really? I just see two dorks when I see them.”

At that, Tuulikki laughed; it sounded like a gentle summer’s wind. “That is because you are kin to one. It is almost your duty to see them as nothing more than a ‘dork’, as you put it. But when I see them, I see two men who have been through many trials and many heartaches. Where one man is weak, the other is strong and lifts his lover up.”

“Huh…I never thought of it like that,” she murmured, surprised by Tuulikki’s words. “Makes sense, though. I know Dagur’s been through a lot and he has his faults. Can’t say I know much about Cæna yet, though. He seems like a nice enough guy, though.”

“He has suffered much hurt in his life,” Tuulikki told her. “He, your brother, and Lady Gretasdotter will do well as they help one another heal.” A warm smile crossed her features. “Just as your friends have helped heal you.”

Heather felt her cheeks grow dark yet again. “Heh, well—what are friends for, right?”

There was a knowing twinkle in Tuulikki’s eye as she turned her gaze, looking out across the troll city. “To have friends that you can trust and love is to have a treasure far greater than any horde kept by a king or queen.”

As she spoke, Heather could hear the grief growing in her voice. “Humans and other short-lived beings are lucky in that way. Their lives are so short compared to us longer-lived creatures. They do not live long enough to have their hearts or minds twisted by time. Most remain faithful friends and lovers until the very end.”

“I’m sure that’s not _always_ the case,” Heather replied, frowning. “Surely there’re creatures who have always been your friends?”

“The life of a Laumè can be a lonely one, dear Heather. Though I have acquaintances in many places, there is no one I can truly call ‘friend’. Not anymore.”

She gave Tuulikki’s hand a small squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

Tuulikki looked at her wearing a sorrowful smile. “Don’t be. It is of my own doing that I no longer have friends.” A soft sigh passed her lips. “Have I told you what it is we Laumè are known for?”

Heather shook her head. “No. I would assume you’re a sort of sky spirit, given your coloration, but…” An innocent grin came to her lips. “I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong.”

She gave her a gentle smile. “You are partly correct,” she said, a bit of laughter to her voice. “We Laumè were once attendants to the lords and ladies of the sky. But some of us saw how the people down on the earth were suffering and we grew distressed. How could the lords and ladies live their lives, knowing how much pain the children of the land went through?

“We begged the lords and ladies to help the humans, but they would have none of it. ‘The pain they suffer is brought on by no other than themselves!’ they told us. ‘We have tried to help them in the past, but they wanted more, more, more! The children of the land had grown spoiled. We will help them no more.’ But those of us who continued to travel to the land in order to get the earthly fruits the lords and ladies coveted saw how wrong they were.

“And so…many of us simply left. We left lives of luxurious servitude and instead became guardians to the children of the land. Though we knew we couldn’t help all of the land children, we did our best. We would each watch over a village and do our best to keep it safe. To keep its people happy.”

“How many of you were there?” Heather questioned, listening with rapt fascination. “Hundreds?”

Tuulikki shook her head. “Three dozen of us left and that was at the very most. Our numbers were small, but we were able to keep part of this world happy…for a time.” She let out a heavy sigh, her eyes closing. “But then the Hunters came. They sought out any creature that wasn’t human and, depending on how much of a fight the creature put up, they would either capture it or kill it. Sometimes, when a group of humans tried to protect the non-humans, the Hunters would slaughter them all, regardless of their age. Such a thing happened to the village I had been protecting.”

Heather’s eyes widened in horror. “What!? But—But that’s horrible! Even the children?”

She nodded. “Even the children,” she whispered, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I did my best to fight off the Hunters. At least two dozen fell by my hand, but their numbers were too great. Out of the two hundred humans who lived under my protection, I was only able to save five.”

“I’m sorry.” She gave Tuulikki’s hand a small squeeze. “Did this—did this happen fairly recently?”

She shook her head. “No…At least, not by human standards. Nearly seven centuries have passed since then, but I still feel the ache in my heart at times.”

“I would imagine. Suffering loss on _that_ scale must be horrible! But—but at least you were able to save some of them, right? I’m positive those five people couldn’t have been more thankful that you had saved them.”

Despite the tears soaking her cheeks, Tuulikki smiled. “I try to remind myself of that every time the ache returns,” she said. “Though, it can be difficult at times.”

“And it probably will always be that way.” Unconsciously, Heather reached up and brushed away some of her tears. “But that’s part of being alive, right? Feeling both pain and joy as well as anger and sorrow…without those, we’d just be husks wandering around.” She swallowed hard, realizing that she was now simply resting her palm against Tuulikki’s cheek.

Her closing, Tuulikki pressed her cheek against Heather’s palm. “That is true,” she murmured. Heather’s skin was warm and pleasantly rough; toughened by years of wielding axes and swords. “At times, I find myself wishing I had never left the sky. But then I remember that I would have never seen so many wonders that the land has hidden away.” She opened her eyes again, a tender smile crossing her lips as she looked down at Heather. “Such as yourself.”

Heather’s cheeks grew dark as Tuulikki leaned over, kissing her, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she snaked her arm around Tuulikki’s waist and drew her even closer.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure you want to leave so soon?”

“We only just got back to Enda Fjarðarins!”

Thora’s brothers pouted as they looked down at their sister and niece. Thora looked like she could do with a week straight of sleep, but she wore a reassuring smile as she handed Dagrun over for last-minute uncle cuddles.

“I’m sure,” she told them, speaking in their tongue. “Cæna wants to see his uncle and I want to sleep in my own bed. Anyway, Heather and Tuulikki are probably already halfway home. Can’t let them have the homecoming feast all to themselves.”

Sindri took Dagrun first, pouting as he snuggled her. “But this visit seemed so much shorter than your last one…” he murmured. He smiled half-heartedly as Dagrun clung onto his nose, giggling as the pressure change made his voice sound funny.

“That’s because she was only with us for a month and a half instead of three years,” Ormr reminded him. “But I can understand why Little Sister would want to go home. It hasn’t been the most restful visit for her.” Kneeling down, he gave Thora a big hug.

Ulfr frowned, his arms crossed and his tail swishing low to the ground. “You can at least rest _one_ more day,” he said.

“I could,” she agreed, finally being released by Ormr in exchange for Dagrun, “but I’m not. I just want to go home and get some rest with my family.” She let out a curse as Sindri lifted her up, giving her a big squeeze. “I’m sure you know the feeling.”

Ulfr let out a defeated sigh. “I do. It’s similar to being away at war for months on end. No matter how comfortable you are while away, nothing stops you from longing for your own house and hearth.” He smiled somewhat. “I just wish you’d stay here with us _permanently_. But I understand that that won’t happen anytime soon.”

“Not for six or seven decades, at least.” She chuckled as Sindri set her down once again. “But I promise you: If any more miracle children happen, I _will_ write you as soon as I know, alright? And maybe then _you_ three can come visit _me_ for once.”

At that, Ormr let out a hearty laugh. “That sounds like a plan,” he told her, handing Dagrun off to Ulfr.

Holding the child above his head, Ulfr smiled once again. “And you, young trolling, best grow up to be big and strong like your mother! You’ve got a long legacy of trouble making to live up to!”

Dagrun giggled, not understanding a word her uncle said. But she clapped her hands together, regardless, and grinned down at him with her silly, toothless grin.

As she took her back, Thora gave Ulfr a final hug. “Oh, she’ll live up to that legacy for certain. It comes from all sides of her family.” She glanced over her shoulder as Dagur and Cæna approached them.

Ormr pointed a teasing-but-warning finger at Cæna. “Take good care of Little Sister Thora, yes?” he said, speaking in the common tongue now. “No more playing dead. Will string up by toes if happens again.”

Cæna turned red as he bashfully smiled. “I swear to you, I have no plans to play dead any time soon,” he assured them. “I just want to live a _mostly_ quiet life with my family.”

“Good answer,” Sindri grinned, reaching over and mussing up Cæna’s hair. “But were always good, yes? Must be good if Little Sister fell for.”

Ulfr cocked as brow as he stared at Dagur, a slight frown on his lips. “And _you_ ,” he said, crossing his arms once more, “best treat them _both_ well. You still have long way to go to prove that life was worth saving.” As he spoke, he slightly bared his teeth, making Dagur shrink back ever so slightly.

“I-I promise!” Dagur stammered, eyes wide and skin a bit pale. “I’m going to love and cherish and protect all three of them to the best of my abilities!”

Thora smacked Ulfr’s side, making him twitch and ruining his scary expression. “How many times am I goin’ t’ have t’ tell ya that he’s no longer the power-hungry kid wantin’ t’ take over the world?” she scolded. “He’s changed over the years an’ he’s goin’ t’ be an _excellent_ father an’ husband.” Leaving her brother’s side, she went over and wrapped her arm around Dagur’s shoulders before kissing the top of his head. Her tail pulled Cæna over; she also kissed the top of his head.

“To be fair, a lot of the change I went through was because _you_ made me realize I was a raging idiot,” Dagur told her, giving her a squeeze. “Though, I still need work on my anger issues…”

Cæna cocked his brow. “True…but you _have_ gotten better with them from what I’ve heard. Mocking people you’re upset with is a lot better than killing them.”

A guilty smile came to Dagur’s lips as his cheeks turned as red as his hair. “Yeah…I’m just a work in progress.”

“Our work in progress,” Thora chuckled, nuzzling him. She then looked back up at her brothers. “We best get goin’ so we can cover a decent distance before sundown.”

The three trolls nodded, each one looking more and more somber as the moments passed. “Will try to visit,” Ormr told her as he helped her onto Death Dance’s back.

“Will give warning when do,” Sindri assured her, picking up Dagur and Cæna. “Know little island need time to prepare for trolls.” He set them beside Thora before scratching Death under the chin. “Be good dragon, yes? Fly safe, land well.”

Death made a purring sound before gently nuzzling him.

“She is always good dragon,” Ormr smiled, patting her atop the head. “Will always be giant puppy.”

She clacked her jaws happily and lightly beat her wings, sending a cloud of dust up into the air. Then, lowering her head, she nuzzled Ulfr and playfully lifted a bit of his hair in her outer jaw.

He smiled, giving her a final pat on the neck. “At least send letter letting us know you made it home safe,” he told them. “Know how Sindri frets about such things…”

Sindri pouted at him. “Me!? You are fretful one!”

Thora rolled her eyes, though she smiled. “Ya _all_ fret until ya hear from me,” she teased. “Now seriously: We need t’ get goin’. I love ya three an’ I _promise_ I’ll write the day we get back.” Despite her playful tone, her brothers could tell she felt more than a little sad at their parting. “An’ I’ll write far more often, too. If the three o’ ya need _anythin’,_ just send word, aye?”

“And same to you, Little Sister,” Ulfr told her, smiling sadly. “Will come at—eh, how humans say it? Drop of sword?”

“Drop of a hat,” Cæna corrected, taking Dagrun from Thora as she better situated herself. “But I like ‘drop of a sword’, too.” He waved at the brothers, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s got more of a ring to it,” Dagur agreed, grinning.

As Death Dance spread her wings, Ulfr, Ormr, and Sindri backed off and started waving. They watched the Boneknapper take off into the air and circle around the clearing once before heading sound. They continued to wave until Death Dance was little more than a speck in the sky, knowing that Thora was waving back.


	59. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. After --what, 3? 3.5? years--, a *crap* ton of plot changes, and even a pairing switch-up from Thora/Tuffnut to Thora/Dagur in the fic's infancy, Taming a Monster has FINALLY reached its end. In total, this thing is 790 pages total and has close to 450k words. At some points, I honestly started to wonder if this monstrosity of a fanfiction would ever reach this point; gods know I kept coming up with more and more plot to add to it. 
> 
> I want to thank all of you who have been reading it since the beginning. You have no idea how much it means to me that you stayed and kept reading this story. There were points when I was extremely close to just abandoning this fic, but after reading the comments from you guys, gals, and gentlethem, I got inspired all over again and kept writing. 
> 
> I won't lie and say I'm horribly upset it's over--I'm actually quite relieved, lol. Finishing TaM means I'm finally able to go onto other projects that have been sitting on the back burner for a few years. It's been a refreshing change of pace from all the dragons and trolls I've been writing about for the last who-knows-how-long!
> 
> For those curious, I will still be writing. If you're interested, I have a Mulan fanfiction trilogy in the works; the first part being titled 'Daughter of Death'. It's...actually nearly done, lol, but is MUCH, MUCH shorter than TaM and its sequels will be as well. Hopefully. Soon, I'll also be posting an original story titled 'The Warlock's Auction'. It's an urban fantasy set here in the Pacific Northwest and, I assure you, there will be no obsessive vampires or abusive millionaire playboys. 
> 
> Anyway. I think that's about it, so...Again, thank you for reading my fanfiction and I'm glad to find that there are people out there who enjoy my writing. Now, on to the final chapter!

“It’s goin’ t’ be so nice t’ sleep in my own bed again,” Thora yawned. “Granted, I’m goin’ t’ have to magic it bigger so both o’ ya fit in it, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Cæna, leaning against her, raised a brow. “I could always, you know, _build_ us a bed. It’s not as easy as magic, but it produces the same result.” Tilting his head back, he looked up at Thora’s face only to get a face-full of her hair as it whipped about. He stuck his tongue out, moving the hair away.

Dagur was strewn across their laps, his eyes closed as he held a sleeping Dagrun on his chest. “I didn’t know you were a woodsmith as well as a blacksmith,” he said, frowning somewhat. Thanks to Thora’s magic, they were pleasantly warm on Death Dance’s back. It was hard for him to not join his daughter in napping.

“I’m not, but how hard can it be? It’s making a few notches in some logs, resting more logs in those notches, and tying them together.”

Rolling her eyes, Thora shook her head with a small laugh. “It’s harder than that,” she said. “I’ve worked a _bit_ with wood, but never made a bed from it. But I have seen beds _being made_ by other people.” She glanced up at the sky and somewhat frowned; it was almost noon. Below them was nothing but clouds and ocean that stretched for miles around.

But something felt… _off_.

She couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be wrong right then. Dagrun was sleeping peacefully; Death Dance was flying well and feeling fine; Dagur and Cæna were happily chatting away…

‘It’s got to just be my shot nerves,’ she told herself, closing her eyes. ‘They don’t know what it’s like to be at peace. It’s going to take them a while to calm down and realize that things are finally going alright.’

“Well, then I’ll _learn_ how to make a bed,” Cæna continued. “Should be easy enough to find a woodsmith willing to take on a temporary apprentice.”

“Why are you so hung up on making us a bed?” Dagur asked, opening an eye. Despite his words, he wore a small grin. “I thought you’d be more eager to make swords or helmets or something.”

He shrugged. “I’m just itching to make _anything_ , really. So long as it’s not cooking pots or spoons, I’ll be happy.” Shifting somewhat, he wrapped his arms around Thora. “Your dad’s a blacksmith. Do you think he’d be willing to share his smithy?”

“More than likely,” she answered, her eyes still shut. “He’d appreciate the help, really. Ever since Hiccup became a dragon rider, da’ hasn’t had much help. He tried t’ train Snotlout for a bit, but…Well, y’know. Dragon riding comes first.” Her ear twitched ever so slightly; she could hear _something_ in the distance. What it was, though, she wasn’t yet able to tell.

“Maybe we’ll get our own dragons?” Dagur chirped. “Maybe I’ll finally get my Skrill!” He smiled innocently as Thora opened an eye to give him a scolding look. “Or…a different dragon would be nice, too.”

Cæna chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know if I’d want a dragon, to be honest. At least, not a big one. For the most part, I enjoy keeping my feet on the ground. Having one to help around the smithy, though, would be fine.”

“I think you’d get along with a brood o’ Terrible Terrors, then,” Thora smiled. “They’re mischievous, but once ya get them trained, they can be really sweet an’ helpful.”

At that, Dagur snorted. “Terrible Terrors? Sweet and helpful? Thora, my love, as much faith as I have in Hiccup’s dragon taming abilities, even _I_ know it’s damn near impossible to train a _Terrible Terror_.”

“Hiccup an’ the others were able t’ train a brood o’ Terrors while I was away,” she told him. “Not sure what happened t’ them since, though…Probably still wanderin’ around Berk.”

“When I see them, _then_ I’ll believe you. But for now, I’m really doubting that claim.”

“ _I_ believe her,” Cæna yawned. “Even if I don’t know what sort of dragon a Terrible Terror is or how it acts.”

Reaching over, Dagur gave him a light shove. “He who knows naught of dragons is he who gets no say in talk of dragons.”

“Sounds to me like someone wants me t’ dangle him over the edge o’ Death Dance,” Thora said, voice dry.

“You wouldn’t do that! You love me too much!” His eyes opened wide in panic as he felt her tail curl around his ankle. “I have a baby on my chest! A _sleeping_ baby!”

“Aye, an’ I can very easily take her _off_ your—” She suddenly fell silent, her head tilting to the side. She was now able to better make out the sounds she was hearing; it sounded like yelling. She was just about to untangle herself from Dagur and Cæna when a different noise -this one of somewhat metallic wingbeats- came rushing towards them.

“Thora!” Heather, Tuulikki, and Windshear appeared alongside Death Dance. Both Heather and Tuulikki looked worried. “Thora, bad news: Berk’s under attack!”

Her eyes shot open. “What!?”

Dagur clutched Dagrun to his chest as he sat up. “Under attack?! By who!?”

A grim look passed over Heather’s face. “The Grimborn brothers. And they’ve got Berk pretty well outnumbered in both men _and_ dragons. Almost the entire village is on fire.”

Her lips pulling back in a snarl, Thora narrowed her eyes. “I thought we were _done_ with those two,” she growled. Standing up, she made her way to Death’s neck where, holding onto a vertebra with her tail, she let herself lean far over the edge to look down towards the sea.

There was Berk, black smoke rising into the sky from the village and its southern beaches filled to the brim with enemy ships. Groups of dragons were scattered about, trying to protect the island as best they could. She could see the main team -Hiccup’s team- still whole, though the three auxiliary teams looked like they were missing riders.

“Heather, can Windshear take any more passengers?” She glanced up at the smaller dragon and rider. “I’ve got a bone t’ pick with those two.”

Heather glanced back at Tuulikki, who merely nodded. Sliding from Windshear’s back, the Laumè floated in the air alongside her, leaving enough space for the other humans.

Dagur frowned, watching his wife come back over to the saddle. “Thora, what are you going to do? We’ve only got two dragons and—” He was silenced with a kiss.

“Trust me,” she told him, her voice quiet against his lips. “Everythin’ will be fine.” She gently kissed the top of Dagrun’s head.

“When you talk like that, it sounds like things _aren’t_ going to be fine,” he pouted.

“When she talks like this, the only thing you can do _is_ to trust her,” Cæna told him, setting a hand on his shoulder. Standing on tiptoe, he kissed Thora’s chin. “Kick their asses, love.”

A tired smile came to her lips. “I plan to. Now both o’ ya get on Windshear. Heather, I want ya t’ stay at _least_ as far away as the sea stacks, alright? I don’t want you lot gettin’ caught up anythin’ by accident.”

“Got it,” she replied.

“I will help to keep them safe,” Tuulikki said, her eyes glowing with an ethereal silver light. A small smile came to her lips as she looked at Heather. “I will not let _anything_ harm them.”

“Thank ya.” Running a hand over her hair, she let out a quiet curse as Dagur and Cæna managed to crawl from Death Dance onto Windshear. Just a minute later and the Razorwhip had banked off, taking her riders away from the Boneknapper.

Turning, Thora held onto Death’s neck once again. “Death Dance, get us in there as fast as ya can. An’ let those bastards know we’re comin’.”

With a quick clack of her jaws, Death Dance folded in her wings and angled herself into a sharp dive. She tore through the air, the distance between them and Berk being closed in a fraction of the time it would take to reach it by flying normally. As they came ever closer, Thora could see and hear the battle taking place between the humans. Cries of pain and anger filled her ears; the sharp clang of blades meeting made her ears ring.

All that was momentarily blocked out as Death Dance let out one of her deafening roars. Feeling a small, cool tug on her mind, she gave in to it and let it guide her to her target: The largest ship of the attacking fleet. As she swept past it, she felt the tug disappear and felt the slight weight that was Thora disappear.

“Ah, Lady Gretasdotter. I was beginning to wonder where you had gone.” Viggo didn’t look the least bit surprised when Thora landed before him. “A shame, really. You’ve missed the majority of the battle. As you can see, I’m-” His brows furrowed somewhat as his voice suddenly faltered in his throat.

Around the ship, the sea began to violently churn. The other ships started to rock to and fro, but their ship remained still. Whipping around, Viggo looked out towards the beaches where the battle had suddenly stopped. His men were struggling against something -what, though, he was too far away to see.

“Ya have some nerve about ya, attackin’ my home.” She stalked towards him, teeth barred and eyes glowing blue. “Attackin’ my friends. My family. An’ all this after attemptin’ t’ kill my husband.”

Viggo did his best to remain calm, but the panic was all too clear in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his voice remained silent. From nowhere, a bitter wind picked up. It filled the sails of the fleet and started to pull them off of the beaches and back into deep water.

“I’m done playin’ games,” Thora hissed. By now, her entire body was glowing. “I’m _done_ lettin’ other people try t’ hurt me an’ my loved ones. I’m _done_ bein’ amusement for the Æsir.”

Swallowing hard, Viggo turned and sprinted towards the edge of the ship. He leapt onto the bannister and threw himself overboard—only, the second his feet left the wood, he was grabbed by an invisible force that then slammed him back down onto the deck. A foot was placed on his chest and he found himself staring up at the glowing form of Thora.

“I may have been late t’ the battle, but I’m just in time t’ end it—an’ _you_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Over on the sea stacks, Heather, Cæna, and Dagur sat atop Windshear. They watched in horrified fascination as the fleet of dragon hunter ships was dragged back into the ocean, where a massive whirlpool had opened up. Ship after ship was sucked down into the vortex with such speed and such power, they were ripped apart like cloth.

What was happening on land was harder to see. If they squinted, they could just barely see the hunters trying to run away from the ocean. Some _thing_ was stopping them, however, and was dragging them backwards. Whatever had ahold of them also took hold of the siege weapons, tearing them apart and flinging them into the raging ocean.

The dragons, however, remained unharmed.

“How is she doing all of this?” Dagur murmured, his skin pale as he watched things unfold.

“She’s a witch,” Cæna told him. “And she’s a troll. Combine the two…”

“But she lost her magic.” He frowned, looking up at Cæna. “Those scars on her neck—you were there. You should have known that.”

Heather shook her head. “She got her magic back,” she explained. “I’m not sure on the specifics of it, but it happened the day after you—after you ‘died’. Hiccup said something about her yelling and screaming on the beach.”

“Strong emotions can sometimes negate the effects of potions and spells,” Tuulikki said, her voice soft. She sat, legs crossed and her hair billowing around her, in the air above them with her arms held out. She had the area bathed in soft, white light; without it, the group would have been picked up and thrown about by the savage winds. “Anger, grief, joy, sorrow…they are all powerful emotions, even when there is no magic behind them. That is why some magic users center their magic around emotions.”

Cæna cocked his head, intrigued. “I never knew that. There are really people who can do that?”

She nodded. “It is a difficult skill to master and those who use it improperly can severely damage their minds.”

“Is that what Thora’s doing right now? Using her emotions to fuel her magic?” Dagur asked, his brows furrowed with worry. He looked up at Tuulikki before looking back out at Berk. “Because if she is, she needs to _stop_. I don’t want her hurting herself!”

“I assure you, my lord, that the magic she is using comes entirely from the earth.” She closed her eyes, able to _feel_ the vast amounts of magic being used. “She calls it forth from the depths of Midgard and it listens to her needs and her wants. But to use _this_ amount of magic can be extremely dangerous -not just to herself, but to those around her. Those _not_ her enemy, I mean.”

Cupping the back of Dagrun’s head, Dagur held his daughter a bit closer. “I don’t like the sound of that…” He felt Cæna wrap his arms around him and he let himself lean into his touch.

“If she were someone with less control over their magic, she would be in danger,” Tuulikki told him.

“But Thora’s handling it well?” Heather asked, glancing up at the Laumè.

She nodded. “Yes. But, it is understandable as she is the daughter of Greta Peace-Bringer.”

“If this is how her mom brought about peace, I don’t want to know what she was like when there _wasn’t_ peace,” Dagur murmured.

Tuulikki sat up straighter. “Ah…the magic is gone. She must be finished.” As she spoke, the ocean calmed; there was no sign of the devastated fleet.

But one ship did remain: The flagship. Throughout the whole thing, it had remained anchored in place, unmoving despite the forces around it.

“Then let’s get going!” Dagur urged, giving his sister a pleading look. “Come on—you saw what happened! I want—no, _need_ —to know that Thora’s alright!”

Cæna gave him a gentle squeeze. “She’s fine,” he assured him. “We both know she is. But it’d be best to still wait a few minutes, just in case she _isn’t_ finished.”

Dagur said nothing, though he continued to wear a pout as he slumped further into Cæna’s embrace.

The soft light faded from their bodies as Tuulikki stood upright. “We will approach with caution,” she gently ordered, “by following the southern beach. Should trouble arise, though I doubt it will, you must fly away as soon as I tell you.”

“Sounds good,” Heather agreed. She looked up as Tuulikki glided past her only to blush as her fingers brushed against her cheek. “L-Lead the way,” she murmured, voice betraying her bashfulness.

The smile Tuulikki wore was almost teasing as she started to fly away.

“Sure, _you_ get to flirt with _your_ non-human girlfriend,” Dagur grumbled, “but we have to sit here wondering if _our_ non-human _wife_ is still alive. Ouch!” He clapped a hand over his face; Heather had slammed her elbow into it. “What was that for!?” he yelped. He pouted, looking down at Dagrun as she giggled. “Oh, and now my daughter thinks my pain is funny. _Everyone_ team up against Dagur now!”

“If you don’t stop whining, I’m going to take Dagrun from you and throw you into the ocean,” Cæna told him, voice humorless. “Thora’s fine, Heather has every right to flirt, and Dagrun…well, she _is_ your daughter. Her tastes in humor are going to be questionable.”

Heather laughed, impressed by how well he had handled her brother. “You know what, Cæna? I think you’re on your way to being my favorite brother-in-law.”

A goofy grin came to his lips. “I’m going to be your _only_ brother-in-law!”

 

* * *

 

 

Her head was pounding.

Groaning quietly, Thora raised her hand to her head and clenched her already-shut eyes. Thankfully, the pain in her head seemed to start ebbing away as she became more conscious, but in its place came a dull pain that ached through her entire body.

“ _Definitely_ overdid it,” she murmured. Opening her eyes, she found herself looking at a familiar, moss-covered ceiling. “Must’ve passed out…”

“Yes, you did. And you scared the life out of poor Dagur when we found you on that ship, covered in blood.”

Turning her head, she saw Cæna sitting some feet away. He was in her rocking chair, holding Dagrun against his shoulder as he gently patted her back.

“How long was I out…?” she asked, slowly pushing herself upright.

“Four days.” He couldn’t help but chuckle when a surprisingly loud burp came out of Dagrun. “I had to assure everyone that you would be alright. I don’t think any of them believed me, though.”

She smiled tiredly at him. “I don’t blame them. Where’s Dagur now?”

“He and Heather went over to Berserk so Dagur could get some of his things.” Standing up, he carried Dagrun over to the bed and sat down on the edge with her. “They left this morning, so they should be back soon.”

Nodding in understanding, she took Dagrun from him before kissing his cheek. “Sorry I scared everyone. I—I just didn’t want anyone else t’ get hurt.”

He nodded as well, cupping her cheek. “I know. And you did well.” He kissed her on the lips. “ _Very_ well. There’s not a single trace of those guys left.”

“Good.” Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against his. “Did ya get t’ see your uncle?”

“He hasn’t wanted to let me out of his sight,” he smiled. “Your dad had to pry him away today so that they could do repairs to the roof of their house.”

She smiled, her eyes still shut. “Johann? Doing _physical labor_? Preposterous,” she joked.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Hey now…my uncle has done plenty of physical work. How else would he be able to fill that ship of his with rare and exotic goods?” As Dagrun started squirming, he pulled back from Thora. He sat the child down on her lap, watching as she wobbled for a second before falling backwards slightly. She landed against Thora’s stomach, her eyes wide.

“Were there any deaths durin’ that battle?” She brought her tail out from under the covers and began dangling it over Dagrun’s face. A tender smile came to her lips as she watched her daughter try to grab it.

“From what I’ve heard, there were a few. I don’t know who, though, since…well, I don’t know anyone here.” He also smiled as he watched Dagrun. “Everyone’s been busy rebuilding the homes that were destroyed. I’m pretty surprised by how fast they’re getting things done.”

“A lot o’ us grew up durin’ the times when dragons would attack every other week,” she explained. “We got real good at rebuildin’ an’ fixin’ things real fast.”

He nodded in understanding. Reaching over, he tickled the bottom of Dagrun’s foot, making her laugh as she played with Thora’s tail. “I believe it. I suppose they’re able to work even faster now with the dragons’ help.”

“Aye. Especially since Kenna got that Timberjack o’ hers an’ Yngling got his Monstrous Nightmare. They’re able t’ make lumber so much faster with the help o’ those two.”

Cæna cocked his head to the side. “Kenna and Yngling…I’ve heard those names before. I think you mentioned them while also talking about Ruffnut and Tuffnut.”

Her brow rose. “Aye, I mentioned them—a few _years_ ago,” she chuckled. “I’m surprised ya remember.”

“You were excited when you talked about them, that’s why. Something about Kenna and Ruffnut…?” He shrugged. “I just remember whatever Ruffnut had wrote to you about made you really happy and you were practically bouncing with joy.”

“One o’ my best friends had finally gotten herself a girlfriend,” she told him, cheeks turning a bit red. “O’ course I was happy.” She then slightly tilted her head to the side. “I think Dagur’s back.”

He glanced over his shoulder, looking through the bedroom doorway. “It was cute,” he said. “Yep, it’s Dagur. Looks like he’s struggling with something. I better go-”

There was a curse followed by a lot of loud clattering and clanging from the front of the house.

Cæna shook his head. “Of course. He brought an insane amount of weapons with him.”

Thora smiled, rolling her eyes. “O’ course. That’s our Dagur.” She looked down at Dagrun, who had a very concerned expression for an eight-month-old as more clanging filled their ears. “Your daddy is makin’ quite the racket, isn’t he? He needs t’ take some lessons from your papa on how t’ be quiet.”

“‘Papa’, huh?” A thoughtful look came to Cæna’s face. “I like that a lot better than ‘daddy number two’.”

“I thought ya might.” She looked up as Dagur poked his head through the doorway. “There’s Lord Loud-pants.”

Dagur guiltily grinned. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I’ve been awake for a while.” She held her arm out to him and he came over, giving her a kiss before hugging her tightly. “Sorry I slept so long.”

“You did a lot of magic,” he said, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I don’t blame you. But I do wish you hadn’t been covered in blood.”

It was her turn to wear a guilty smile. “If it makes ya feel any better, most o’ it was Viggo’s.” She then frowned, pulling back from him. “Did ya let him go?”

Both men nodded. “Yeah,” Dagur told her. “We didn’t want to, but when we saw what you did to him and what you wrote, we let him go. What you did was brilliant, by the way; cutting out his tongue and taking some of his teeth?” A sigh of admiration left his mouth. “By the gods, that just made me fall for you all over again.”

She cocked her brow, not impressed. Then, she shook her head and let out a small, defeated chuckle. “Ah, well…I was able t’ get ya t’ stop _most_ o’ your violent tendencies. I suppose it’s alright if ya still enjoy the occasional bit o’ gore.”

Dagur kissed her cheek. “It _was_ brilliant, though! He took your hair and your tusks—your two most defining physical features—so you took his tongue and his teeth, _his_ most defining physical features!”

Cæna looked downright horrified. “He took your hair and your _tusks_?!” he squeaked, growing two shades paler.

“He did,” Thora sighed. “He did it as a way t’ get back at Dagur an’ Heather. He did it as an…an ‘incentive’ for them t’ not betray him.”

Dagur’s upper lip pulled back in a slight snarl. “But instead, he just gave us all the _more_ reason to betray,” he growled, slamming his fist into his opposite palm. “Ugh, I wish I could have beaten his face to a bloody pulp when we found him on the ship! Actually, no, I wish I could have beaten his face to a bloody pulp and then taken a knife to his—”

He suddenly paused. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his mouth. He did this three more times. “New subject,” he said at length. “How do you feel?”

“Tired an’ sore,” she replied, impressed by his method of calming himself. “Where did ya learn that?”

“Cæna,” he answered. He lightly nudged the other man. “He taught me a few tricks to help calm me when I get angry, since we didn’t have any teas or scent pouches at Urd’s.”

Cæna raised his brow. “Yeah…didn’t really help when you decided to open your mouth, though.”

He pouted. “I _tried_ to stop myself, but Urd just made me—just made me so angry every time she opened her mouth, I couldn’t stop myself. Cookie, the non-slave servants, the guards…all of them I could keep my mouth shut around when they got abusive. But something about Urd just…” He made an angry noise and throttled the air in front of him.

“It’s kind of understandable,” Cæna sighed. “She did _really_ enjoy picking on us…” A small smile came to his lips as Dagur wrapped his arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“But then our amazingly beautiful and powerful wife and my totally badass sister came to rescue us,” Dagur said, voice muffled against Cæna neck.

He smiled, brow rising. “Too true, though I’m still just your twos’ fiancé, remember?”

Lifting Dagrun slightly, Thora scooted closer to the two men and wrapped her tail around the both of them. Both of them wrapped an arm around her in return as she rested her head on Cæna’s shoulder.

“We’ll fix that soon,” she murmured, eyes closing. “Ya know…when I was younger, I could never picture myself havin’ a family.”

“Why not?” Dagur frowned.

She shrugged. “Well, when half o’ your village was terrified o’ ya even when ya were scrawnier than Hiccup an’ constantly let ya know ya were an ugly half-blood monster, ya kind o’ lose hope o’ ever findin’ love.” Her tail tightened around them slightly, bringing them even closer to her. “But now, here I sit with my husband, our fiancé, an’ our miracle child.”

Dagur reached up, running his fingers through her hair. “You had to go through Hel to get here though,” he murmured, a small frown on his face.

“More like she had to go through Niflheim, Muspelheim, _and_ Helheim,” Cæna sighed.

Tilting her head back, Thora gave them each a lingering kiss. “But now I’m back in Midgard with my little family an’ I have _no_ intentions on leavin’ anytime soon.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The End


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